Can't Lose, Won't Lose
by jayHbee125
Summary: Hannah isn't too happy when her father decides to move the family down south, and the whole football craze isn't helping. But then she meets annoyingly smug Tim Riggins, and is forced to tutor him in English so he can play the rest of the season. But then she begins to realize Tim is not exactly who she originally thought. (K for language) (first fanfic EVER-should I continue?)
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Three months. She'd been there three months, and nothing had changed for Hannah Robertson. Dillon, Texas was so small that it probably wouldn't have even shown up on a map—had it not been for its Panther football team. It was the only thing that kept the town afloat, it seemed. Everywhere she looked, _Go Panthers_ banners decorated the front porches of nearly every house and store in town. It was already getting old for Hannah, but she knew she'd have to get used to it. There was no escaping football here.

Why her father had to take a job here, she'd never understand. It wasn't like they'd been desperate. There were loads of jobs in the city back when they lived in Northern California. And it was green, so green, roads shaded by redwoods and surrounded by rivers and creeks. Sure, it'd been a little dry there recently, what with the drought and all, but Hannah missed being able to drive to San Francisco or Lake Tahoe for the day. Why did her dad have to pick this stupid job?

"It'll bring us closer together," he'd said. "We don't spend enough time together as a family, and in small towns, family is priority."

Silly dad. Didn't he know that in Dillon football was priority?

So now she was here, in Texas, where hairspray was sold by the gallon and cheerleaders really did rule the school. And little Hannah, too uncoordinated to ever shake pom-poms, was stuck eating at an empty table every lunch. Sure, there was Julie Taylor, who said hi to her every morning in their history class, but she was the coach's daughter. And she was dating a football player. The thought of sitting at a table full of thick-headed jocks and their oh-so-willing rally girls made Hannah's stomach turn. She preferred to be alone.

Too bad things rarely went her way.

As she approached the lunch tables with her tray of macaroni and cheese, she discovered that her usual table had a group of four boys sprawled out in the chairs, feet up on the table. Their jersey numbers were hidden behind the back of the chair, but it didn't take her long to figure out who they were. Smash and his three goons, all sitting with stupid grins on their faces as they watched the rally girls at another table. Hannah followed their gaze to the next table over, where Julie sat with Matt, Landry, Lyla, and Tim Riggins. A leggy blond had her hand on his thigh, tracing patterns on his jeans with her forefinger. He was holding her gaze quite intently until he began to feel like someone was watching him. He moved his eyes away from the blond and settled them on Hannah.

Hannah, of course, was still awkwardly standing in the middle of the cafeteria, shoulders hunched, macaroni going cold. She quickly dropped her gaze and looked at her feet.

Tim wasn't the only one who took notice of the embarrassed girl.

"Hannah!" Julie waved her over to the table.

 _Well shit_ , Hannah thought. _Better come up with something fast_. She shook her head and stuck her thumb out, pointing behind her. "Gotta go," she mouthed, turning on her heel and walking towards the exit of the cafeteria.

"You can't take that with you, sweetie." One of the lunch ladies nodded toward the tray.

"Oh, sorry," Hannah muttered, and she dumped the macaroni in the trash before leaving. The woman frowned at her and then at the wasted food. Hannah smiled apologetically and backed towards the doors that led to the main hallway. She glanced back at the table hoping nobody saw this little exchange. How embarrassing would it be to see her throw her entire lunch away than sit with them? Nobody was paying attention to her, too engrossed in their conversations about playing the Grizzlies on Saturday. But then she felt eyes on her and locked eyes with Tim Riggins. The blonde was whispering sweet nothings in his ear, but he didn't look way. Instead, he smirked at Hannah. That set her over the edge, ears burning red, mouth dry as her jaw slackened. She gaped at him. The smile was so smug, the eyes so arrogant that she suddenly wanted to punch his nose. He was disgusting. With his stupid face and stupid long hair, and his stupid muscles. He knew he was hot shit. And he wanted Hannah to know that he knew he was hot shit. He broke eye contact then, turning to plant a kiss on the blonde's lips, which she enthusiastically returned. What a douche.

Hannah left then, and as she walked passed a sea of lockers, she cursed at herself, wondering why she had to be so ridiculous, so shy. Why didn't she just join the table and talk to people? It wasn't like she was afraid of them, was she? What was there to be afraid of? It's not like the football players would have done something to her. They never paid her any attention. She wasn't their type. Not that she minded much. She had always equated the game with stupidity. And that Tim Riggins and all his nonsense. Dillon's designated man-whore. She should have sat right down next to him and let him have it. He needed to be knocked down a few levels back to reality. This wasn't some tween movie where jocks were equated with gods.

But in reality, Hannah would never do that. She just found a seat at a table in the back of the library and took out some pieces of notebook paper to doodle on. She made spirals all over the page with her blue pen, the rhythmic swirls putting her in a trance. And before she knew it, she dropped her pen on the desk and closed her eyes.

"Hannah?" someone whispered, gently shaking her shoulder.

"Hmm?" she grumbled.

"Hey, don't you have a class right now? I didn't think you had an open period after lunch."

Hannah peeked through her lashes at a concerned-looking Julie. After lunch? Already? She jolted up straight, taking her doodle paper with her. It was still stuck to her cheek when she turned to look at Julie.

"Oh my god. I have a presentation due!" Hannah ripped the paper off her clammy skin and scrambled to get her things together before waving Julie off and rushing out of the library.

With thirty seconds to spare, Hannah made it to English. Her face now sweaty, her bangs clung to her forehead and she was panting as she took her seat by the door. She paid no attention to the stares she got from her neighbors, and ferociously unzipped her backpack to retrieve her report.

"All right, guys." Mr. Burns stood up from his desk and clapped his hands together. "Any volunteers?" The room fell silent. "Or, maybe I can just call on ya'll randomly?"

A few groans from the back, but no one put up their hand. Hannah was flipping through the pages of her report so fast that she nearly ripped the first two pages. She thought she had this memorized, but the nervous feeling in the pit of her stomach told her that her brain had erased all files on Ernest Hemingway.

"Hannah, you look like you're eager to get through this. Want to give it a try?"

Hannah met Mr. Burns' gaze and parted her lips to speak. Nothing came out but a tiny squeak.

"Two points extra credit for going first," he offered.

"Hey," someone from the back of the room said. "You never offered that before."

"You snooze, you lose, Landry. What do you say, Hannah? Want to give it a shot?"

Hannah grimaced, knowing that she never really had the choice. She stood up from her desk and made her way to the center of the room. Mr. Burns beamed at her for a moment before suddenly knitting his brows together. She looked away from him, already feeling judged by her performance.

She stared at the bored faces in front of her and cleared her throat. Random Hemingway facts flitted in front of her eyes and she realized she wasn't anywhere near ready. She'd just have to wing it.

Tightening her grip on the report—which would surely crinkle the paper—she took a deep breath and began her presentation.

"I decided to do my report on Ernest Hemingway…"

The classroom door suddenly burst open. All heads turned toward the source of the noise, including Hannah's, to discover an out of breath Tim Riggins leaning against the doorframe.

"Riggins. Since when did you decide to grace us with your presence?"

"I got a report for ya, Mr. Burns." He raised a piece of paper above his head, clearly too short to be considered an actual piece of research.

"I haven't seen you in here for nearly three weeks, Tim. And now you've barged in on your fellow student's presentation."

Tim looked at Hannah. His eyebrow flicked upward momentarily, and then he smiled. "I'm awful sorry for interrupting your presentation." He strode in, taking a seat behind Hannah's. "Please, don't let me stop you. Keep going. It's real good so far."

A few of the other students snickered while Mr. Burns just rolled his eyes. "You really have a report for me, Riggins?"

"Yes, sir. Gotta keep these grades up if I want to play."

Mr. Burns relaxed his posture. Tim had said the magic words. _Of course_ , Hannah thought. _Of course this man is a football fan_. The teacher turned back to Hannah and gestured for her to continue.

Hannah cleared her throat again, slightly less nervous, as the annoyance began to bubble up inside her. Leave it to Riggins to make things worse.

"Right," she continued. "So, I decided to write on Hemingway, who's known for his utter realism…" She trailed off at the end, hearing whispers in the back of the room. She swallowed hard, trying desperately to keep her eyes off the footballer in the front row. "His writing…um…was mostly a reaction to what he saw in the…war." More whispers. A few giggles. Were they laughing at her? "He fought in the first world war, and the horrors that he saw," more giggling, and a finger point. Finger pointing? What the hell was going on? "it's all reflected in his writing. I was going to read a piece from his…his…" They were definitely pointing at her. And laughing. Then she accidentally caught a glimpse of Tim, who was looking at her rather strangely.

Her heart dropped and she experienced the familiar feeling of acid rising in her stomach. Beads of sweat formed on her temples and her breathing hitched. It was going to happen. There was no stopping it now.

"Mr. Burns?" she asked in a voice that was barely audible. "I need to—I need to step outside—I…I'm not feeling well."

The teacher sighed and nodded his head, waving her off. Hannah dropped her report on the floor and retreated to the hallway. Leaning against the wall, she bowed her head and closed her eyes. She put her hands on her knees, bracing herself as she took in deep breaths. _Don't think about it. Just relax. For the love of god, don't do it._

"You all right?" came from a deep voice. There was no mistaking who it belonged to.

Hannah look up at him, still trying to calm her breathing. She watched him run fingers through his long hair, visibly uncomfortable with the little interaction.

"I'm fine," she said in a breathy voice. She hadn't meant for it to sound as harsh as it did. But this was partially his fault. If he hadn't been staring at her with his stupid hazel eyes then she would have pulled through.

"You think you're gonna hurl?" Charming.

"I'm trying not to," she snapped. "But talking about it isn't really helping, so…"

"Right. Sorry."

They were quiet for a minute as Hannah attempted to quiet her breathing. When she felt she was calm enough she spoke without looking at him. "What are you doing out here?"

"I told Burns I had to use the bathroom." She could hear the smile in his voice. He was pleased with himself.

But that didn't make any sense, because two students weren't allowed to use the bathrooms at once. She looked up at him then, and raised her eyebrow skeptically.

"Told him it was my time of the month."

She couldn't help herself. She cracked a smile. Tim returned an even bigger smile, knowing he had won.

"You're ridiculous. But that's not what I meant. I mean why are you here?"

His expression turned puzzled. "Well… to see if you were okay. Or if you were gonna throw up." She narrowed her eyes at him. "Sorry."

"But you don't even know me. We've never talked before."

"First time for everything." He smiled. "So, not very good at public speaking, are we?"

"I'm not usually this bad. I mean, I'm not great by any means, but…I don't know, I just felt like they were all judging me in there. I thought I heard whispering. About me."

He shrugged his shoulders and leaned against the wall. "That's probably because they were. Now, about that…" He looked up at her, his eyes filled with…pity?

"What?" Hannah asked, suddenly very self-conscious.

"You got this," he pointed at her, "this blue stuff smeared on your face." She put a hand to her cheek, horrified. "Other side."

Hannah covered the blue smudge and made her way to the bathroom. She was able to see her reflection before the door closed all the way.

" _What the fuck_?" she screamed, her cry echoing throughout the halls. Tim let out a sigh and waited for her to come back out. But she didn't.

She remained inside the bathroom, scrubbing away at her face. All her makeup was coming off and her skin turned red from the irritation. Her eyes welled up with tears and she sniffled pathetically before sinking to the ground. She didn't care how cold or dirty the tile was. She didn't want to be here anymore. Not at this school, or this stupid town, or anywhere near southern hospitality. She was done with it all.

Tim put his arms behind him and tapped on the wall. He began whistling and strumming his thumbs on the wall to the beat. He wondered why he was still waiting out here. And then he heard her. Crying, sniveling behind the door. It hadn't closed all the way, and he could hear the hiccups escape her throat.

He knew he shouldn't. He certainly hadn't done it before. But he realized that he couldn't leave her like that. So he went in.

She was sitting with her back to one of the sinks, hands in her lap, palms up. Tears dripped off her chin. He ran a hand through his hair instinctively. He hated seeing girls cry. He knelt down beside her and put a hand on her shoulder. Should he pat it? Or rub it? Or just let it…sit there? He settled for a gentle pat.

"What…are you…doing…in here?" she choked.

"Thought I'd check it out. Never been in one of these. But, I was kind of expectin' a couch. At least some chairs." When she didn't respond, he sat down beside her. "Look, I know it sucks. But, they'll probably forget all about it by next class, what with the game tomorrow."

She raised her head a little, enough to quickly glance at him. She seemed so fragile on the floor, and he knew it wasn't just her size. She looked like a wounded animal. He couldn't understand why this was all so horrible for her. Sure, it was a little embarrassing, but whatever. Shit happens.

He let out a quiet laugh. She looked up at him. "You still have some of that blue stuff on you."

She jumped at his words and began frantically attacking her face with her sleeve. She was freaking out again. He had to do something.

"Hey, hey," he murmured, grabbing her hand. "You don't need to claw your skin off. Here." He stretched his arm out to capture a lose paper towel and held it under the sensor of the sink. He squeezed it to let out the access water and brought it back down to her level. She held out her hand, but he shook his head. "I'll do it, ya maniac."

He leaned forward and carefully dabbed at her chin for the remaining smudge of ink. Now that he was close enough he could smell the vanilla shampoo in her hair. It was like inhaling a cookie. He fought the desire to close his eyes and breathe it in.

Hannah sat very still as he wiped at her skin, too nervous to look up at him. _What is wrong with me?_ she thought. _I've become a damn catatonic._

"There we go," Tim said, throwing the paper towel over his shoulder.

He was still leaning close to her. What was that look in his eyes? What was he thinking? Hannah suddenly became very aware of her own heart, which was hammering in her chest, screaming to break free. She hoped he couldn't hear it.

And then he was on his feet, wiping his hands on his pants and holding one out to her. She took it, hesitant at first, and he pulled up beside him.

"Well, I should probably get out of here. I don't want people to think it really is my time of the month." He gave a half-smile and Hannah felt herself blush.

"Okay," she mumbled, and played with a string of thread on her shirt.

"See ya," he said. And then he winked.

Hannah nearly keeled over. She contained herself by grabbing on to the sink behind her. He gave a little wave and was out the door.

She suddenly felt unable to move her feet, like they'd been cemented to the ground. So much for not being attracted to jocks.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

The next day, Julie managed to convince Hannah to eat lunch with her and her friends. It wasn't the first time she'd tried, but this time felt different. It was as if she felt sorry for Hannah, and sought to offer her some form of protection or comfort. This was, of course, because of the events in English the day before.

"Who told you?" Hannah asked.

Julie smiled sheepishly. "Landry."

Hannah glared at the freckled boy sitting across the table from her. He was wearing his Panther jersey, wolfing down a slice of lasagna and a cup of chocolate pudding. He paid no attention to Hannah, too focused on the food in front of him. He was bouncing in his chair and nodding his head, no doubt trying to amp himself up for the game later that night.

"So, did you, you know, throw up?" Julie asked.

"No. Almost, but no. I managed to calm down." Hannah kept her eyes on the table, warmth creeping up her neck. She hadn't managed to calm down alone, but no one needed to know she had any help. Not from _him_ , anyway.

The thought of him sitting with her in the girls' bathroom made her heart flutter, and she cursed at herself. She shouldn't even think about being attracted to him. He represented everything she hated. Football-throwing, country-playing, pickup driving, womanizer. And probably not very bright. Well, he could be, she supposed, but he was just too lazy to do anything about it.

Suddenly, the cafeteria was filled with whoops and hollers, clapping and fists banging on tables. Half of the football team had just entered the room, all in their jerseys and letterman jackets. They were all smiles and waves. Matt and Tim trailed behind and received a few whistles from the girls.

Hannah glanced back at Julie, expecting her to be annoyed. But all she saw was a look of love and devotion. It was sweet, really. They were a good match. Matt stuck out like a sore thumb on the team. He wasn't the norm.

"Clear eyes, full hearts," Smash bellowed, cupping his hands by his mouth so it echoed throughout the cafeteria.

" _Can't lose_ ," they replied in unison. And then they cheered, even Julie.

It was amazing how much energy and excitement filled the room once they arrived. In a way, it was kind of nice seeing so many people come together. Kind of. This feeling diminished for Hannah as soon as she saw the rally girls gather around Tim. He slid his arm around a girl's waist, but turned his head to face another. He was enjoying himself, that was for sure.

But then Hannah noticed that he wasn't looking at any of the rally girls. He was looking over their heads to another table. He was looking at Lyla.

She gave him a tight-lipped smile and crossed her arms over her chest, almost like she was about to reprimand him.

"Is Lyla with that Tim guy or something?" Hannah asked, nodding her head in the girl's direction. 'That Tim guy.' _Real smooth, Hannah._

"Who knows," said Matt, taking a seat between Julie and Hannah. "Sometimes they are, sometimes she hates his guts. No one can really figure it out."

Hannah nodded and watched as Tim moved away from the girls and followed Lyla out of the cafeteria. Maybe she really was going to reprimand him. Couldn't keep his hands to himself, and now he was in trouble. _Typical,_ she thought.

"Are you going to the game tonight?" Julie looked hopeful.

"Um, I wasn't planning on it. I'm not really into football."

Even Landry looked up at that comment. Their stares made Hannah a bit uncomfortable, and she began shifting in her seat. This was why she didn't sit with people. It only meant future social interactions and so much more awkwardness. Such was life for a person with social anxiety.

"Oh come on, you can sit with me in the stands. Don't go for the football, go for the guys." Julie winked at Matt, and he blushed.

Hannah opened her mouth to say she wasn't into them either, but then remembered who she was sitting with. There was no excuse. If she said she had plans, they'd know she was lying.

"I don't know…I'll think about it." That should be enough. No confirmation either way.

But Julie wasn't having it. "Hannah, when's the last time you went out with some friends? You don't want to be cooped up in the house when the whole town is out here, do you?"

"Well…" Hannah caught sight of Tim as he sat down at a table across the cafeteria.

He looked angry, and maybe even a little hurt. No doubt Lyla had let him have it. He ran a hand through his long hair and crossed his boot-covered ankles. Hannah realized that Tim only had two main looks: arrogance and anger, and the rest were just varying degrees of those. And right now, his face was darkened from the latter. He had that pout to his lips, so that no matter how threatening he tried to be, his mouth always gave off something a little more sensual. And the eyes, when they looked at a person, like they were suddenly looking at Hannah, they had a certain slyness to them, like they were keeping a secret.

Hannah froze in her seat, unable to look away from him. And he didn't take his eyes off of her either. They had a stare-down from across the room. All the commotion and noise around her faded away as she looked on. He was beautiful, there was no denying that. But something was different about him in that moment, something in eyes, the way they were burning holes through her. Something that made her chest tighten and her palms go clammy.

What was he thinking? There was no way to tell. Whatever it was, he was very good at hiding it.

"Hannah? Will you come?" Julie interjected, making Hannah jump.

Tim broke the stare then, looking out the window towards the parking lot. Hannah let out a breath, realizing that she'd been holding it for a while. She looked back and forth and Julie and Matt and sighed.

"Oh, all right."

Game night. Arguably the most important night of the week for Dillon, Texas. Nearly all the shops closed down early so that their owners and employees could make their way to the high school stadium.

Hannah had never seen so many cars at the school. Some parked on side streets and walked a few blocks to the field. A few had painted their faces blue and yellow while others held up posters with their favorite players' jersey numbers. Julie had seats toward the bottom of the stands so that they were all able to make out everything Coach Taylor yelled. Hannah took her place beside Julie, who was now sandwiched between her and her mother. She could smell a mixture of popcorn and sweat, despite the fact that the players hadn't walked on the field yet. And the people in the stands, well, they were cheering at the empty field.

Thankfully, neither Julie nor her mom joined in with them, but they sat quietly, clapping their hands once and a while.

The stadium lights lit up the field, bathing it in an artificial yellow. It hurt to look directly at one. Hannah knitted her fingers together and crossed her legs. She'd have to be very patient. Who knew how long they'd be out there?

And then the school band played, trumpets blaring, drumline hammering away. The cheerleaders jumped up and down and waved their pom-poms. Hannah rolled her eyes at the short skirts and ribbons threaded through their ponytails.

The Panthers tore through a banner as they filed out of the locker room and splayed across the field. The sound of the crowd was deafening; Hannah covered her ears.

"Look, there's Matt and Landry," Julie yelled in her ear.

Hannah smiled and clapped to show her support for the boys.

The long-haired boy was the last on the field, number 33. He paid no attention to the screaming fans, and trotted over to the rest of the team. They huddled together around Coach Taylor, helmets knocking together.

Not long after, the game started, and Hannah watched as bodies slammed against each other and fans cried out. Whether they were happy or upset, she didn't know. Every so often she'd see Julie clap and she'd do the same.

It was nearly impossible for her to keep track of the little ball. Not that she was really paying attention. Instead, she found herself constantly watching number 33 ram into someone and tackle them to the ground. He was taking a beating, that was for sure. He had the most violent position, which seemed to suit him. He was letting all of his aggression out on the field. Hannah wondered if he normally performed like this, or if it had something to do with a certain brunette who hadn't bothered to show up to the game.

The Panthers were down by two, and time was running out. No one seemed bothered by the fact that there were only three minutes left on the clock. How was that enough time to do anything?

They set up a play halfway down the field. Matt screamed through his mouth guard, " _Red-seven, red-seven! Hut, hut, hike!_ "

And then the ball disappeared as it was passed between players and blocked by the massive bodies colliding into one another.

"Where is it?" Hannah asked.

Julie pointed and screamed, "Riggins!"

She was right. Tim had managed to get his hands on the ball and was charging down the field, mowing down players left and ride. He was fast. But it wasn't his speed that guided him closer and closer to the end zone. It was the sheer force of his body pushing against his opponents. Hannah could hear the groans and huffs as they ran into him before eventually hitting the AstroTurf.

"Come on, come on!" someone behind her called.

He was so close, so close to scoring, Hannah could feel herself lean forward, just as anxious as the rest of the crowd. This was the big moment, this determined the game. _Please,_ she found herself thinking, _please make it._

Tim was right there, just a few more steps and he'd have it. Two of the players from the opposing team chased after him, giving it everything they had to catch up. But Tim was just a little bit faster, pounding his feet into the ground with each step. He was almost flying.

Hannah turned her head slightly to Julie, never removing her eyes from Tim. "He's got it."

And just as Tim took that final step onto the end zone, just as the clock stopped and people threw their arms up in a glorious victory, he was knocked to the ground. Pummeled was more like it.

There was an audible gasp from the audience as Matt and another player ran across the field. They pulled the boys off of Tim, and Coach Taylor jogged to the field. He made sure to keep a cautious pace so as not to worry the crowd.

Tim did not get up. He cradled his shoulder and kept his face down. No one knew whether to cheer for the win or be concerned that their fullback had seriously injured himself.

Hannah craned her neck as far out as possible, desperate to catch a glimpse of his face. But the helmet never came off. The medic caught up to the small group gathered around Tim and knelt down beside him. Hannah couldn't make out what they were saying, but from the looks of it, Tim had gotten hurt badly. She looked up at the scoreboard. They'd won, 21-20.

And then, suddenly, the crowd around her cheered in the stands and Hannah looked back at the field. Matt and Landry were helping Tim stand up. Hannah let out a breath of relief and closed her eyes. This. This was why she didn't like football. How could anyone want to put themselves in harm's way so often?

Julie wiped imaginary sweat off her brow and smiled at Hannah. The announcers named the Dillon Panthers as the victors, one step closer to the state championship.

After they filed out of the stands, Julie hugged her mother and beckoned Hannah to follow her. She wanted to congratulate Matt (and Landry).

As they waited outside of the locker room, players came out with towels in one hand, and bottles of water in the other. They looked exhausted. And sweaty. None of them had bothered to take a shower, they were too eager to celebrate.

Landry came out first, dragging his feet. He looked up at the girls with a lazy smile.

"We did it," he said, raising an arm above his head. The movement hurt apparently, because he quickly let it drop and began massaging it.

"Congrats, Landry," Julie said.

Hannah gave a thumbs up.

A few minutes later Matt walked out of the locker room engaged in a heated conversation with a bandaged Tim Riggins. His arm was in a sling. As soon as they eyed Julie they stopped talking. Julie hugged Matt and grimaced as the sweat seeped onto her shirt.

Tim stood off to the side, head hanging low. Hannah looked at him and shook her head.

"What?" he asked.

"How bad as it?" She gestured toward the sling.

"Dislocated my shoulder, sprained my wrist. But other than that, I'm great." He grinned, making the dimples in his cheeks more pronounced.

Hannah rolled her eyes. "I don't know why you guys want to put yourselves through that. It's so dangerous. So silly. So…"

"Hot?" Tim responded.

Hannah felt her ears burn. "I was going to say avoidable. You put yourself in that position. "

Tim scoffed. "You sayin' this is my fault?"

"What I'm saying is, this could all be avoided if you chose to not participate in a sport where the main event is colliding with boys that look too big and too old for high school."

"Yeah, but then how would I get the rally girls to do my homework?" He grinned again as he watched Hannah's jaw slightly drop.

"You got me." Hannah shrugged and turned back to Julie and Matt. "Ready to go?"

"Hold on, guys." Tim said, though he looked only at Hannah. "Are ya'll going to Smash's place to celebrate?"

Julie and Matt raised their eyebrows at Hannah, waiting for her to make the final decision.

Hannah waved them off dismissively. "I think I'm just gonna go to bed. You guys have fun."

Julie tightened her grip on her bag. "All right. I'll just have my mom take you home and then I'll head over to Smash's to meet Matt."

"No, no," Hannah wagged her finger. "You guys go. I'll call my dad."

"I don't want you waiting here by yourself, Hannah. Let me just get my mom—"

"Really, it's fine—"

"I'll take you home." Everyone turned to Tim. "I was going to pick up a few things at the store, anyway."

Hannah didn't know what to say. Let Riggins drive her home? How could he even drive with that thing on his arm? And why the hell was he offering?

"I really don't want to be an inconvenience to anyone…" Hannah started.

"It's not a problem. Matt, Julie, you guys go ahead. We got this."

Julie exchanged glances with Hannah, raising her eyebrow in question. Hannah shrugged.

"Okay then. See you later, Han."

Matt waved and the two of them were off, leaving only an injured boy and a very, very, uncomfortable girl.

Tim didn't say anything, just started walking in front of Hannah toward the parking lot. She hesitated for a moment, wondering if she should just stay behind and text her dad. But something inside of her told her to follow him. It told her to pick up her feet and start moving quickly, because despite his injury, Tim hadn't slowed down his pace. And so that's what she did. She followed.

When they reached his pickup truck he opened the passenger door for her. They still didn't speak when she hopped in. It wasn't until he climbed in beside her that he finally said, "Off of Saddleback, right?"

"And how exactly do you know where I live?"

He chuckled. "This is Dillon we're talkin' about. Everyone knows where everyone lives."

"Charming," she muttered.

"So…you feelin' lightheaded at all…? Any sickness or nausea?"

Hannah furrowed her brow.

"I'm just sayin', if you feel like you gotta do it, just wait for me to pull over."

She felt her face grow hot and she glared at him. "I'm not going to throw up, Tim. But thanks for your concern."

"Besides all the violence," he said, looking at her briefly, "did you enjoy the game?"

In truth, it hadn't been at all exciting until those last five minutes. But she couldn't say that. She couldn't let him think he'd won over yet another girl.

"It was…something."

"Wow, that bad, huh?"

Hannah gave a small laugh, embarrassed. "It's just not my thing. Like I'm sure Hemingway isn't yours."

Tim looked like he was about to say, "who?" but then he realized. He rolled down the window and stuck his head out like a dog, shaking his hair. Hannah found herself staring at him. Again. She snapped out of it, clearing her throat.

"What are you doing?"

"Gettin' some fresh air. Feels good."

"Because you didn't get enough of that on the field, right?"

He laughed. "You should try it. Unless, you know, you don't wanna mess up that dark, luscious hair of yours."

Whether he meant it as an insult, she didn't know, but somehow, she still felt offended.

She copied him, rolling down the window and sticking her head out. A rush of cold air hit her face, and for a moment she couldn't breathe. But then lowered her head as a barrier and closed her eyes—something he hadn't done, thankfully—and let the wind beat against her skin. When she finally opened her eyes again, she looked back inside the truck to find Tim watching her. A bemused smile spread across his face.

"You wanna go somewhere?" he asked suddenly.

Hannah felt her stomach do a back flip. "Well…I mean, where would we go?"

"There's a clearing off the highway. Good place for drinkin' beer and shootin' the shit, or just lookin' at the sky. It's pretty dark out there." When she didn't say anything he added, "But you know, you said you're tired. So it's up to you."

Now this, this was tricky. Where they'd go wasn't the problem. It was why. Why did he want to go somewhere with her? She didn't think he'd try to hurt her or anything, but he had to have some ulterior motive. Maybe he thought he'd get lucky? Not only had he wounded himself in battle, but he'd brought them a win. Did he think she'd want in on some of that?

But what if he didn't? He could easily get laid at Smash's party. That wasn't even a question. What if he just wanted to hang out, and she just happened to be the person with him. That was okay, right?

Tim was growing more and more uncomfortable with her silence. He took it as a no, and headed toward Saddleback Road.

"Can you really see the stars there?" she asked.

"Oh yeah. The sky's full of them, didn't you know?"

But she didn't laugh. She looked down at her hands and whispered, "I've never seen a night sky without city lights."

"Well," he said, making a U-turn at the stoplight, "there's a first for everything."


	3. Chapter 3

**Note: This is a shorter chapter (sorry), but I should be putting another one up this weekend. Thanks to anyone reading this. It feels good to write something after so long, and with FNL in my head—and Riggins in particular—I just want some form of the show to keep going. So, without further ado, here's the next chapter.

Chapter 3

The clearing wasn't much to look at in the evening. The grass was nothing but a black mass, the surrounding trees sat like statues on the edge, guarding the entrance to deeper woods and further darkness.

The ground was no doubt littered with beer cans and old cigarettes, but Tim didn't seem to mind. He'd talked about the place as if it were a little piece of heaven, a sanctuary from all the chaos back in town. But tonight, it wasn't about the isolation. It was about the open night sky, untainted by the traffic lights, and stadium lights, and dealership lights, and brake lights from the all the cars exiting the school parking lot. It was pure, uninterrupted darkness, and it blanketed the sky with a splatter of stars, most of which had already died, but were so far away, they'd yet to fade out.

"Wanna beer?" he asked, laying out an old blanket in the bed of his pickup.

"You keep beer in your car?"

Tim smirked. "Always be prepared."

But Hannah wasn't smiling back. "I'm not so sure how I feel about you drinking and driving."

He laughed at that, running a hand through his hair. "Yeah, you really don't know me very well if you think one beer is gonna affect my driving."

Hannah frowned. "You're right, I guess I don't."

Tim tugged on the lip of the can, and it opened with a pop. As he took a swig, he closed his eyes briefly. Hannah stared at him intently after he smacked his lips and wiped away the dribble on his chin.

"Listen, if you don't want yours, I'll be happy to drink it for ya."

Hannah gave a humorless laugh. "I don't think so."

And then she debated. Should she drink it, or would that only encourage him? She'd never had alcohol before, and somehow, doing it in the middle of nowhere with a borderline alcoholic didn't feel encouraging. But it was only one, and if he was telling the truth, one wouldn't hinder his ability to drive.

"Maybe I'll have a little," she replied. After all, no one was forcing her to finish it.

They both climbed on to the bed of the truck and pressed their backs against the back window. Tim crossed his ankles and put an arm behind his head as a pillow. Hannah remained a little more reserved, hugging her knees to her chest. She stared up at the night sky and watched the stars twinkle. It was a full moon that night, but a few clouds hid part of it from view.

"So what d'ya think?" Tim asked, taking another swig.

Hannah sighed deeply. "It's so peaceful out here. So quiet. I can hear myself think, for once."

"It's a good place to think. Don't get to do it that often anymore, what with the late practices. I'm usually pooped by the time we're done on the field."

"I'm surprised there aren't more people here. It looks like the kind of place you see in the movies. You know, where all the teenagers go to…get into trouble." She threw a look his way and waggled her eyebrows.

He chuckled. "I suppose it is."

There was an uncomfortable silence for a moment. Then Hannah said quietly, "Have you ever done that here?" But she wasn't entirely sure she wanted to hear the answer.

"Nah. I've been here a few times in the day with some buddies, you know, messin' around, havin' some drinks. Throwin' a football around. But most of the time I'm alone."

"Oh."

"Yeah."

"Well," Hannah gently elbowed him in the arm, "thanks for sharing this place with me, then."

"Sure."

Tim turned to look at Hannah, not realizing that when he did so, they would only be a few inches apart. He blinked slowly a few times, hesitating. Her big brown eyes bore into his, and despite the darkness, they seemed to shine brightly. Maybe if he just leaned in a little bit, even just a fraction of an inch, he wouldn't seem pushy. Maybe if he just—

"So, have you never taken Lyla here?"

Tim lowered his gaze and backed up. He hadn't expected this at all. He thought they were having a moment, that she'd cave. She agreed to go out here with him, after all. So what was all this about?

"I don't know what you mean." He knew it was an obvious lie, but he couldn't help it.

"Oh, come on. I may be new, but I'm not that oblivious."

Tim uncrossed his legs and sat up straighter, visibly uncomfortable. He ran his fingers through his unkempt hair.

"Lyla's just a friend."

Hannah raised an eyebrow. "Is that so? Well, if you want to play it that way, then okay."

"She is. We're not together."

"Anymore, you mean." She regretted it immediately after she said it. Tim seemed upset today, and here she was, rubbing it in. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that."

"Can I ask why you want to know about her?"

"I saw you leave the cafeteria with her. And you looked pretty pissed when you came back. And she wasn't at the game. I thought everyone went to the games."

Tim sighed and shook his head. "We kinda had a thing goin' for a little while. But she doesn't want it anymore. Shouldn't o' happened, anyway."

"Oh."

"But I never took her here." He smiled at Hannah, watching her reaction. "What we had was more of a…physical thing. If you know what I mean."

"Uh, yeah, I think I get it."

"We mostly stayed indoors."

"I got it, Tim. Thank you."

"Probably wouldn't be appropriate if we came out here to—"

"Tim."

"You got it."

"That's correct."

He laughed and she rolled her eyes. He was such a typical high school jock. Only ever cared about one thing. It stung a little, though, because despite everything she still felt the butterflies flutter any time he looked at her. _Wow,_ she thought, _and I'm the typical high school girl, fawning over the jock_. She felt her face grow hot, embarrassed that she'd fallen into the trap she had always made fun of. She was no different than them.

"So, why are you here? I mean, why'd you move to Dillon? No offense, but you don't look like the type that enjoys rodeos and red meat."

Hannah shrugged. "My dad. I guess he grew up in small town, and thought I should too. Except he missed the fact that I'm passed my prime years of development. Spending my senior year in Texas isn't going to make a difference. I am who I am."

"I see. And what then, you don't think people can change?"

"No. I don't know. I know who I am and what I'm not. It's not like I'll be signing up for any beauty pageants in the near future. And I sure as hell am not going to be a cheerleader for the Panthers. No offense."

"None taken."

"I think my stepmom has had enough, too. She's from the Bay Area. This whole 'closed on Sundays' thing is really getting to her."

"Your stepmom. So," Tim threw his empty beer can out onto the grass, "where's your mom, then?"

Hannah snorted. "That's a good question. Let me know if you have any theories."

Tim furrowed his brow and looked over Hannah for any signs of distress. But she gave nothing away, remaining stoic. Despite everything, their upbringings, his experience and her, well, complete and utter innocence, he suddenly felt that they weren't all that different. Not really. Not when it came to the important things.

"My bet's on aliens. They're probably in their data-collecting phase right now." She smiled at her own joke, but it didn't reach her eyes. In the moonlight Tim could see that they were hard.

"Then my mom must be with her."

Hannah grinned wickedly. "Yes, and they're bonding in some alien prison camp right now."

"Swappin' stories."

"Braiding each other's hair."

"Sounds like a party," Tim said. They laughed and looked back up at the sky, searching for the distant spacecraft that had taken away so much from them.

And then Tim popped open another can of beer.

Hannah eyed the drink, her mouth puckering. "So much for one drink."

Tim winked before chugging it. Hannah looked down, disappointed. What had she expected? She herself believed people couldn't change. Why did she think he would change tonight for her?

"I think I should probably head home." She crawled to the edge of the bed and hopped down.

Tim looked on at her, eyebrows knitted together in confusion. "Oh. You sure?"

"Yeah. I've got a lot to do tomorrow, so I should probably head to bed."

"All right." He finished the rest of the beer and chucked it to the side. He soon followed suit by hitching off the edge of the truck, his boots hitting the gravel with a thud.

Hannah opened the passenger door and climbed in. She kept her gaze on the scene in front of her, though there wasn't much to see. Tim sat down next to her and looked at her briefly before starting the truck. She continued to look ahead. He couldn't figure out what he'd done wrong, they'd been having such a nice time. And really, one more beer wouldn't have done any damage to him. His body had practically built up an immunity. But Hannah had obviously checked out for the night. There was no use in conversing now.

The ride home was a quiet one, every so often it was interrupted with the sound of car horn or a rock hitting the windshield. The fifteen-minute drive coming to an end, Tim pulled into her driveway and shut off the car.

"I'll see you Monday, then."

"Yep," she replied without looking at him. She tried to open the door, but it was locked.

"Have a good night."

Hannah finally managed to find the button to unlock the door. She slammed it behind her and walked up the path to her front door. Just before disappearing behind the side of her house, she looked back at him. It was hard to see him in the darkness, but he managed to make out her face. And then he noticed she looked…hurt? But why? He didn't get a chance to ask before she turned back around and left him there, bewildered on the driveway.

He groaned and put the truck in reverse. He was suddenly eager to get home, to end this bizarre day. He backed out of the driveway and cranked up the music on his stereo before driving off. He didn't even noticed the mound of dark hair standing by a window, watching as he drove off.


	4. Chapter 4

**NOTE: Sorry I haven't uploaded anything in awhile. My computer crashed, hard drive problem. I got the Blue Screen of Death on my Lenovo (I don't recommend these computers, only comes with more problems). I'm doing these on Google Docs so I don't lose anything. Hopefully the format doesn't go weird when I upload it. Anyhoo, I'd like this to be a longer fanfiction. I just feel like it helps develop the characters and makes the plot a little more authentic than if I chose to stop at five chapters. Of course, that doesn't mean any of you will make it through the end of the story(jeez, that sounded ominous), but I won't leave it unfinished. :-) So, onto chapter four!

Chapter 4

The week after Hannah's strange evening with the Panthers' fullback left her feeling confused and frustrated. Her frustration wasn't strictly aimed at Tim; rather, she began to feel increasingly irritated with herself. Doubt clouded her mind, and she wondered if she had made a mistake brushing him off. He could focus his attention on nearly any girl in the school-probably beyond that-and yet he'd chosen to spend time with her. This was where the confusion came in. Why did she care whether he talked to her? Why did she feel sad when she thought about the ways he spent his free time? In truth, thinking about him, sitting by himself, drinking his cares away, hurt her. She wanted more for him. He deserved more.

And that was the problem. She cared, but she didn't want to. Which was why the entire week that followed utterly sucked. It meant hiding in classrooms, ducking behind open lockers, and eating lunch in the bathroom, all in an effort to avoid a certain long-haired boy.

Problem was, Hannah wasn't anyone you'd ever associate with the word "stealth." In fact, her efforts were downright sloppy. She always managed to make eye contact with Tim, so when she made a beeline for the nearest classroom, Tim felt the full effect of her snub.

A few times he had tried to speak with her; he even cornered her by the water fountain. She'd let her guard down, too thirsty turn down a rusty metal fountain whose stream was so minimal, she had to place her lips dangerously close to the spout. That was when Tim approached, standing behind the girl as she tilted her head this way and that.

"I wouldn't drink that if I were you."

Hannah's body went rigid, and the hand that held together her loose hair fell to her side. She turned around and wiped her chin with the back of her hand. There he was, sleeveless Panther shirt in faded blue, hair falling in his eyes. A corner of his mouth turned upwards as his eyes watched her wipe away the water from her mouth.

"It's not that bad," Hannah said. She hesitated, debating whether she should engage in conversation. But she was still battling the conflicting thoughts in her head, the ones that told her to stay, and the ones that told her he was a lost cause.

So she bolted.

She managed to sidestep him and make her way down the hall. Except, Tim was faster. He easily overcame her, long legs taking twice as much distance as one of her steps. He planted his feet firmly on the ground in front of her and crossed his arms over his chest. The act drew her attention to his biceps, and she gritted her teeth.

"Haven't seen you at lunch in a few days," he said, the curiosity clear in his voice.

"I've been working on a project."

Tim raised an eyebrow. "Can't even take a break to eat?"

"Nope, too busy. Actually, I've got to get to the library now, so I'll see you later. Bye." She didn't wait for his answer, and quickly trotted down the hall.

"I'm tellin' you. Eight feet in the air, that's how far he went." Landry had his body turned in his seat so that he faced Hannah and another classmate.

"Bullshit," a boy hissed. "Ain't no way a ten-year-old could jump that high. That's just a damn lie."

"Maybe if he was on a trampoline," another mumbled.

"There was no trampoline, Travis. That wouldn't have made the news, would it?" Landry turned to Hannah. "What do you think, Miss Hannah? Ever heard of anything like that in Hollywood?"

Hannah rolled her eyes and whispered, "I've told you before, Landry, I'm from the Bay Area. Hollywood's about seven hours away. Totally different place."

"Where'd you say you saw this?" asked Travis.

"Ripley's Believe it or Not."

"Ain't that the same show where the lady had that surgery to make herself look like a cat?"

"Yeah, but-"

"-Gentlemen. If you'd please like to turn your attention back to _Hamlet_ , I think the rest of the class would greatly appreciate it." Their English teacher, Mr. Burns, looked at them through his reading glasses. They sat crookedly on his nose.

Landry faced forward, and Hannah sighed heavily as she turned to the second act of the play.

"Now, then. I want ya'll to follow along as I have someone read the first scene of Act Two. Who wants to try it?"

A sea of nervous faces grimaced in unison, eyes cast down to avoid the teacher.

"Riggins. How 'bout you?"

Tim had his head slumped against the side wall of the classroom. His hair stuck out from the static as he glanced at the teacher with sleepy eyes.

"Unfortunately, Mr. Burns, I don't have my book with me."

Mr. Burns smirked. "Lucky for you, then, you have plenty of neighbors who _do_ have their books. Who'd like to share their book with Tim?"

The noise that followed made Hannah want to gag. It wasn't exactly a squeal, but it certainly didn't sound human. Six girls raised their hands as they eagerly leaned forward in their seats. Tim kept his eyes down on his desk, but even through the hood of his hair, Hannah could see his cheeks rise.

"All right, all right. That's enough. Bunch o' hormonal nonsense, is what that is," Mr. Burns muttered. "Landry, since you seem so keen on talking, why don't you read the scene for us."

"Sure," Landry said, clearing his throat.

"And Mr. Riggins, if you ever show up to my class unprepared again, you'll be heading to Principal Taylor's office. Is that clear?"

"Yessir."

It was nearly 3:00 P.M. The sky was overcast, and it looked as though it might rain. You'd never be able to tell by the temperature, though. The humidity seemed to be at an all time high. Hannah's blouse clung to her skin from the sweat.

She was sitting in Principal Taylor's office, hands folded neatly in her lap. Despite the calm facade, Hannah was dying inside. She'd never been in a principal's office. She couldn't even remember what her last principal looked like. And the worst part was, Principal Taylor seemed very much at ease, like there was a calm before the storm.

The wind howled, as if to emphasize this thought.

"So, how are you doin', Hannah? We've never really had a chance to talk." Mrs. Taylor smiled at the girl.

"I'm fine."

"How has the change been? I know you've come a long way. I'm sure Dillon is quite different than California."

"It's okay."

Principal Taylor pursed her lips. "You know you're not in trouble, right?"

Hannah furrowed her eyebrows and relaxed. She hadn't realized her shoulders had been bunched up by the sides of her head. "I'm not?"

"No. What on earth would you be in trouble for?" Mrs. Taylor laughed. "Unless you're the one who's been stealing all the whiteboard markers and erasers from the classrooms. Then we may have to discuss some things."

"No, that wasn't me. Um, ma'am." It sounded odd as soon as she said it. It was missing that southern drawl that made it sound so natural.

"I didn't think so. Well listen, Hannah, the reason I've called you in here is, well, I need your help. I think Dillon High is a fantastic school. But I also think that that's a little hard to see from the outside. People look at credentials for everything. Credentials tell you if they're certified, if they're credible, if they're safe, if they're worthy of time and money. And I think Dillon is. Except we don't have those kind of credentials. In this case, the credential would be our addition to the list of blue ribbon schools." Mrs. Taylor paused and looked to Hannah to see if she understood. The girl nodded, so she continued. "I think we could be a blue ribbon school if we got some test scores up. Obviously, our athletic program is doing fine, that's not the problem. It's the standardized testing, and the graduation rate."

Hannah searched the principal's face, wondering what in god's name she could do for this woman. She had never been a fan of standardized testing herself.

"So, here's what I'm going to ask of you. I'd like you to help me get some students on track. I've looked at your grades at Dillon so far, as well as the ones you transferred in with. And I got to say, I'm impressed. You may be in the running for valedictorian if you keep this up."

"What can I do, Mrs. Taylor?"

"Have you ever tutored before, Hannah?"

"I used to tutor my neighbor in Algebra."

"Well," it was Mrs. Taylor's turn to fold her hands on the desk, "how would you like to tutor in English?"

The next day Hannah walked with a bounce in her step the rest of the school day. It was the first day in a week she didn't have to worry about eating in the bathroom. Principal Taylor had informed the student to meet Hannah in the library at lunch to set up a game plan. The librarians allowed Hannah to eat at a back table after they received a harsh warning from Mrs. Taylor.

The library was nearly empty, save a few diehard students already prepping for the PSAT. Hannah spread out her books on the table and retrieved a turkey sandwich from her backpack. She tried to keep papers off the table in order to give off a casual vibe. From what Mrs. Taylor had said, the student wasn't a fan of school. In fact, he tried everything to avoid it. So, it was imperative this first session not seem overwhelming.

Hannah flipped through her binder in search of her Shakespeare notes. She grabbed her sandwich with her other hand and took big bite out of the side, hoping to finish it before the session was to start.

"You savin' that mustard for later?"

Hannah nearly dropped the sandwich on her binder. That voice. Oh, no.

Tim pulled out a chair next to her, turned it around, and sat in it backward.

"What are you doing in here?" Hannah asked, the shock not yet worn off.

"You should really start carrying those wet napkins with you. Every time I see you, you've got somethin' else on your face."

Hannah wiped away at the corners of her mouth. He was right. A big glob of mustard was now on the back of her hand.

"Why are you always in here?" he asked.

"I'm busy, Tim." She tried to ignore the tightening in her stomach as the name rolled off her tongue.

"I see that."

"I'm serious. I'm meeting someone in a few minutes, so let me enjoy my lunch in peace."

"What for?"

Hannah smirked. "Something you're definitely not going to be interested in. Now come on, it's 12:30, and I'm going to have to tutor soon."

"Okay, okay. So...I guess we better get started then, huh?"

"What do you...Oh. Oh, no. You're-"

"Do I call you Hannah, or Mrs. Robertson now?"

Oh, no was right.


	5. Chapter 5

**NOTE: Hi there, thank you to those who've taken the time to review, but really, thank you for reading it at all. Now, this chapter is going to be a little different, because most of it will be Riggins-less. I know, it hurts me too. BUT, in order for stories to fully come to life, they need a little more than eye candy. He will be featured in the beginning, but then he's taking a vacation until the chapter 6. Pretend he's out sunbathing somewhere while you read. That's a nice mental image. Anyway, I realize after I post these that you guys are unable to see the page breaks-so I know it looks like we suddenly changed scenes and it throws you off. Hopefully this new (and quite honestly cheesy) technique will show up on the site! :-)

Chapter 5

"This isn't going to work," Hannah said, pinching the bridge of her nose. "No way this going to work."

"Sure it will."

"Why aren't you going to Landry with this? He has experience tutoring the football team. He can relate it to tackling and touchdowns and all that."

Tim grinned sheepishly and ran his fingers through his hair. "Well, uh, see we don't get along real well when he teaches me. He sorta swore he'd never tutor me again after _The Scarlet Letter_."

"And what makes you think we'll get along?"

The smile on Tim's face turned mischievous. "Oh, I'm sure we'll be just fine."

Hannah felt her ears burn red, so she sat up straighter and glared at him to regain some of her pride. "If you think I won't make you work twice as hard as Landry did, you've got another thing coming. So, decide now if you're willing to put as much effort in this as you would one of your football practices. If not, then this isn't going to work. I won't waste my time."

The boy said nothing, just kept his lips pressed tightly together. He clearly didn't like being bossed around.

So Hannah tried again. "Are you going to work hard for me, Tim?"

He opened his mouth to speak, but then thought otherwise. Instead, he leaned forward and placed his elbows on the table. He looked side to side, as if to make sure no one was listening. If what they said about him was true, Hannah thought, he didn't want to appear as though he'd changed his tune about school. Maybe this needed to be kept a secret. That was fine.

Tim lowered his voice and spoke slowly, "Work hard for you? Are you tryin' to seduce me, Ms. Robertson?"

Well, that was unexpected. Hannah's facade collapsed in that moment, and she felt her jaw drop. She stared at him blankly, attempting to collect her thoughts.

"What? How-I," this wasn't working. Thoughts were colliding in her head, unable to decide which one would be spoken aloud. Her brain somehow lacked the ability to send messages to her mouth. Until finally, she managed to say, "You just...Do you even know where that's from?"

"Nope," he said casually, leaning back in his chair again. He looked so smug, pleased that he caused her brain to malfunction. It was enjoyable to watch someone trip over their words.

"Well, aren't you just…" she searched for the right word, "a real comedian." _What a stupid comeback,_ she thought. _I'll probably think of a better one in the shower later._ "I'll see you later, Tim. Be here after practice on Tuesday." She got up from the table.

"But that's at six o'clock," he whined.

"Don't be late," Hannah said over her shoulder as she walked away.

Tim watched her pass the rows of bookshelves and out the double doors, her dark hair bouncing with each step. Her hands were balled into fists. He smiled.

 **~LATER THAT NIGHT~**

"You've got some nerve, Henry," Hannah's stepmother bellowed from the top of the stairs.

"Aw, come on, honey, it's not that bad."

Hannah opened her bedroom door to see Laurie leaning over the bannister. Her shoulders were hunched forward and her hair looked wild as she shaked her head back and forth. She was looking down, no doubt at her cowering husband.

"What the heck's going on?" Hannah asked, her door wide enough for just her head to peer out.

"Your father is an imbecile."

"Laurie!" Henry shouted.

"He's joined the rest of the idiotic town in a pool for the football team. Tell her how much money, Henry."

But Henry didn't answer. Hannah still couldn't see him, so she left the room and joined her stepmom at the top of the stairs.

"Dad, how much?" she asked hesitantly.

"It's not that much."

Laurie slammed her hands down on the railing. "Three hundred dollars. Your father put three hundred of our money into this."

Hannah closed her eyes and sucked in a deep breath.

"Hannah, don't listen to her. You know as well as I do that the Panthers are going to make it to State. And when that happens there'll be a big payoff. Three hundred will seem like nothing. The likelihood of the Tigers taking Friday's win is slim to none. You know that, you've seen 'em play."

Laurie threw her hands in the air, exasperated. The expression she gave Hannah was one of pleading. "I can't right now. If I talk to him anymore I'll smack him. Talk some sense into him, _please_."

Hannah walked down the wooden stairs, the wood creaking with each step she took. When she got to the bottom, she found her father standing with his hands on his hips, head tilted upward in search for Laurie's looming figure.

"Dad," Hannah said, taking a seat on the last step. "Dad, why are you betting money at all? You're not even into football that much."

Henry waved the comment off. "It's something all the guys around town do. It's all they talk about. I've gotta be a part of it if I want to join the group. I was just trying to put my two cents in."

"You told me that taking this job meant things would be different. As in, less money coming in, less money to spend. What's the pay difference between this job and the last?"

Henry looked at the floor not wanting to answer. But he could feel his daughter's eyes burning into his head. "About half. Something like that."

Hannah's eyes widened. " _Half?_ It's half of what it used to be, and you're gambling away money?"

"Idiot," Laurie called from upstairs.

"It's not that bad," Henry spat, glaring into the darkness upstairs. "Hannah, honey, it's going to be fine. We know they'll win. I promise, I won't do this again. I just wanted an 'in' with the guys. They can be pretty intimidating."

Hannah shook her head. There was no point in arguing. He'd done it, and talking to him now wouldn't change his mind. She could only hope his promise was sincere. "If you say so," she said softly, and retreated back to her room.

 **~THE NEXT MORNING~**

There was a loud clanking noise in the sink as Laurie slammed the cereal bowl down. Hannah and her father jumped slightly at the sound. Nobody had spoken this morning, and it was time for Hannah to go to school.

"Where the hell are my keys?" Laurie asked to no one in particular.

Hannah piped up. "I saw them by your phone."

"Well I have my phone, Hannah, and yet there are no keys. See the problem?" As soon as she snapped at her stepdaughter, she regretted it, a sad look on her face. "Sorry, sweetie."

"I think I'll walk to school today." Hannah got up from the table and put her plate in the sink. It would be a very long walk, and she'd probably be late, but there was nothing she wanted more in that moment than to be by herself.

Neither of the adults said anything, so she grabbed her purple backpack and headed out the door. No one said goodbye. But as soon as she shut the door behind her, Hannah could hear the yelling begin. She sighed, and pulled her hood up over her head and shoved her hands in her jacket pockets.

No more than ten minutes later, Hannah heard someone call her name. She looked up to find Matt and Julie in his beat-up car driving alongside the curb.

"Want a ride?" Matt asked.

Hannah smiled. "Yes, please."

At first, all was quiet in the car, but then Julie saw someone she recognized in the car beside them, and began yammering away about Tyra's recent spat with Lyla. Hannah tuned them out, every now and then looking at the rearview mirror to watch Matt's face. He tried his best to seem interested, but he was obviously itching to get out of the car.

"So, what's this I hear about you tutoring Tim Riggins?"

Hannah looked at the mirror again. Matt did not make eye contact, and for that, she was grateful.

She shrugged her shoulders at Julie before answering. "Your mom asked me to help her out. I didn't know she was assigning me to him."

"That's not what I heard," Julie mumbled.

"What do you mean?"

"I heard he asked for you specifically. Gave my mom your name."

Hannah looked out the window. "I don't know anything about that."

Asked for her? What was he playing at? He did know she had a good grade in the class, but there were so many other people. And since when did he offer a tutor for himself?

"All right, then." Julie said, rolling down the window. "If that's the story you're sticking with."

A blue pickup truck cut in front of Matt's car, and the passengers stuck their arms out of the car. The driver had written on the back window in big, white letters: _GOING TO STATE!_

"Assholes. Honk at them, Matt," Julie said.

But Matt just sighed and gave an unconvincing smile. "Aw, it's fine. It's just the guys."

Hannah was still staring at the truck, at the confidence in the white letters. Suddenly she reached out and touched Julie's shoulder.

"Hey, do you think it'd be okay if I slept over tonight?"

Julie looked at her, her big brown eyes widening with curiosity. "Um, yeah, sure. Everything...okay?"

"Yeah, of course. I just thought maybe we could hang out. And...and…" The pickup truck was blasting music, the sound of the bass caused Matt's entire car to vibrate. One of the boys stuck his head out the window to wave at a girl in jean shorts.

Hannah bit her lip, tearing away the flesh. It began to bleed, but she bit down harder. "I could really use a night away from home. That's all."

This time she did meet eyes with Matt in the mirror. He looked sympathetic. Then he put his hand over Julie's and gave her a little nudge.

"Totally. Don't worry about it, Hannah. We'll have fun. My dad's making his famous chili tonight. He'll be happy to have another victim-I mean guest." She and Matt laughed.

Hannah's smile didn't reach her eyes. But she smiled nonetheless, grateful for the break. "Thanks. Seriously."

The school day began and ended the same way it always did. The only difference was a forty minute fire drill that got Hannah and Julie out of Human Anatomy. They sat with their backs against a chain-link fence and discussed their plans for the night. Sleeping in the same house as one's school principal meant no funny business, and no staying up late. Julie made that very clear.

But Hannah didn't mind, she wasn't looking for trouble, only a distraction. And from what she had heard, Mr. and Mrs. Taylor were perfect together. Like peanut butter and jelly, they were comfortable with their differences, but felt no desire to part. They complemented one another, and that gave the house a certain balance.

It was at this time that Hannah found out she had ruined some evening plans. Matt had wanted to take Julie out; he'd already rehearsed what he'd say to Coach Taylor. He was a little bummed, but both he and Julie could see Hannah's need for a break. So he relinquished Julie for the night, and invited Landry over for dinner with his grandmother.

 **~SOME HOURS LATER~**

"Julie, sweetheart, set the table, please," called Mrs. Taylor. "Honey, turn off the game. You can finish it after dinner. Come on, now."

Coach Taylor begrudgingly shut off the TV and hurled the remote off to the side. He was still wearing his Panthers jacket, his whistle dangling around his neck.

"Julie, did you hear your mother?"

"I'm coming!" Julie rolled her eyes as she left her room, Hannah trailing behind.

Hannah volunteered to help set the table, placing down the napkins and utensils beside each plate. She watched out the corner of her eye as the Taylors went through their evening motions. It was nice, seeing them all work together. No one looked too bothered to set things up; even Julie regained her happy demeanor as she made her way around the table placing ice-filled glasses and bowls in front of each chair.

"You'll wanna put out some extra napkins, there, Hannah. It's gon' be a bit messy." Coach Taylor nodded toward the single napkins that lay on the tablecloth.

"Oh, okay," Hannah replied.

"You like spicy?" he asked.

"Oh, yeah. I love me some wasabi."

Coach Taylor pretended to be disgusted. "Wasabi? Ain't nobody talkin' about wasabi. I mean real spice. The kind with peppers and chilis and all that good stuff."

"Well, I guess I'll find out soon enough. I hear your chili recipe is hard to beat."

"You heard right," he said with a proud smile.

"Oh, Eric, please. Hannah, don't say anymore about it. His head's already growin' too big." Mrs. Taylor shared a look with her husband, and despite their teasing, both looked at each other with adoration.

It made Hannah's stomach churn.

"Hannah, sweet tea, lemonade?"

"Lemonade for me, please. Thanks."

"I'll take a Bud Light," Julie interjected. Everyone looked at her. Even the baby went quiet. "Just kidding. I'll take lemonade too, Mom."

"I'm gonna pretend you didn't rattle off a beer brand like you have it with Sunday dinner, Julie Taylor." Mrs. Taylor shook her head disapprovingly.

"That's right," Coach Taylor nodded. "Besides, you know we're a Coors family."

"Eric!" Mrs. Taylor lightly hit him on the arm.

The two girls laughed along with the coach, and before long, Mrs. Taylor cracked a smile.

"Well, guess what mister? You can have some delicious, ice-cold water with your famous chili."

"But-" the coach began.

"-You need to start watchin' what you put in that gut of yours. You're no spring chicken."

"What gut?" he asked, patting his belly.

"The one that's making you sit farther away from the table," Julie chimed in.

Another laugh around the table. Hannah was enjoying herself. Most dinners at home consisted of her father in his faux-leather recliner in front of the TV, Hannah in the kitchen, standing by the counter, and her stepmother in the office, typing away on her laptop. Not exactly family time.

"Okay, okay, that's enough out of you two. Now, everyone get ready for the best meal you've ever had the pleasure of consumin'."

"Here we go," Julie whispered to Hannah.

And the great thing was, Coach Taylor was right.

 **~AFTER PIE WAS SERVED AND FOOD COMAS BEGAN~**

 _LAURIE: Hope ur having a good time._

 _LAURIE: Did u eat?_

 _LAURIE: Have a toothbrush with you?_

 _LAURIE: You better have done ur hw.._

 _ME: Yes, yes, yes, and….yes._

 _LAURIE: K good. Sorry._

 _ME: How's it going there_

 _LAURIE: Great. Haven't said two words to him._

 _ME: Laurie…_

 _LAURIE: Don't worry about it. I'll see you tomorrow night hun._

"Jeez, who're you texting? Tim? That thing's beeping like crazy."

Hannah exited the text conversation and locked her phone. She scowled at Julie.

"Um no, it was not Tim. It was my stepmom."

Understanding filled the blonde's eyes. "Wanna talk about it?"

"Not really," Hannah said solemnly. She fiddled with a loose thread on her pajama bottoms. They were Julie's, and they were a bit snug. She didn't have the same tiny frame as her friend.

"Okay, I can't take it anymore. Do you have a thing for Tim?"

"Jesus."

"Thanks, but you can just call me Julie."

"Why are you even asking me that? What makes you think…?"

"I have eyes." Julie tucked her feet beneath her and sat on them. "So?"

Hannah faked a yawn. "Look, it's been a long day. I'm pretty tired."

"Oh, no you don't. Don't pull that crap with me. Talk, woman."

They sat in silence for a moment, but Julie was persistent, and she began poking Hannah in the side until she spoke.

"I just...I don't know. Maybe. But it doesn't matter. I mean, he's attractive and all, but what's the point? We are so different."

"Hmm."

Hannah raised an eyebrow. "What does that mean?"

"Nothing. It just means hmm."

They both sighed, keeping their thoughts to themselves. Nothing really needed to be said out loud anymore. They seemed to be on the same page.

"I'm going to bed. I'll see you in the morning." Hannah lay down on the bed of blankets Julie piled on the floor. She closed her eyes, and heard Julie pull the sheets up on her own bed.

When she heard Julie's breathing change, Hannah turned on her back and looked up at the ceiling. Light from the streetlamps was cast through the blinds onto the white walls.

And ever so quietly, almost to herself, Hannah gave a soft "hmm."


	6. Chapter 6

**NOTE: Hi, I swear I didn't forget about this. My hard drive crashed again. And now all the files on my computer are gone. Woo-hoo. Anwayyy….Google docs has saved my butt, and we can now move on to chapter six. Side note, I totally haven't finished all the seasons of FNL because I am savoring it. I know when I do finish, I will fall into a pit of despair and go through severe withdrawals. Also, I really had to catch up on Walking Dead ;-). Me love some Rick Grimes. Okie dokie, enjoy!

Chapter 6

"Dear god, please tell me you have dry shampoo in that bathroom of yours." Hannah attempted to push up her roots in the back of her head, but found that a night of tossing and turning had permanently flattened her hair.

"Dry?" Julie asked, running her fingers through her wet mane.

"Oh, I forgot that some of us can just let their hair dry naturally and look like a million bucks."

"Shut up."

Hannah rubbed her tired eyes. "A paper bag will do just fine."

Julie rolled her eyes and retreated to her bathroom to brush her teeth. Hannah stood in front of the full-length mirror and examined her face. She'd been too lazy to wash off her makeup, and her eyeliner had traveled to her ears. Creases from the pillow now lined her cheeks, which only stood out more from the leftover foundation.

"Look out, boys," she mumbled.

Julie was eager to leave the house, but Mrs. Taylor had cooked eggs and sausage for the family, and Hannah wasn't about to pass that up. As she shoveled the hot eggs into her mouth, she could feel the Taylors' eyes on her. She slowed down her chewing and took a sip of orange juice.

"So, Hannah, when will we be seeing you again? It's been wonderful having you here. I'm glad Julie's made herself such a nice friend."

Julie snorted as she stabbed a sausage link with her fork. "As opposed to Tyra, Mom?"

Coach Taylor slurped his coffee. "Well, maybe just a little more wholesome, Julie."

"I had a great time, too," Hannah said. "Thank you both for having me."

"Julie tells us things may be a bit complicated on the homefront. Is that true?" Mrs. Taylor waited for Hannah to respond. Her eyes were warm and filled with concern. But they weren't expecting any particular kind of answer, which Hannah liked.

"Yeah, kind of," she said quietly.

"Well, you are more than welcome to stay any time, honey. Sometimes we all need little break to get us back on track." A warm smile followed, crinkling Mrs. Taylor's eyes.

The sincerity felt good, as if someone had put a warm blanket over Hannah's shoulders. It was amazing how much she could miss something that she never really had in the first place.

"I might take you up on that offer."

 **~9:00 A.M.~**

"If I hear one more mention of that stupid game on Friday, I am going to jam a pencil in my eye."

"I'd actually pay to see that."

Hannah threw her pencil at Landry's head.

"Hey! You said your eye, not mine."

"Yeah, but I'm willing to bet a lot more people would pay to watch it happen to you."

Matt and Julie nodded their heads. They were gathered around the water fountain by Julie's locker, savoring the five minutes they had in between classes.

Someone down the hall shouted out, "Clear eyes," making Hannah grit her teeth.

"You can't really blame 'em," Matt mumbled. "I mean, it is a guaranteed win."

Landry stuffed a candy wrapper in Matt's bag. "Yeah, and the Tigers are just a bunch o' pansies, anyway."

Hannah looked down at her feet. The town's infatuation with the high school sport had only become more unbearable for her since the last conversation with her dad. She prayed they would win-not for their sake, and not even for her father's wallet. It was to keep Laurie around. If they won, and her dad made good on his promise to never bet again, this could work out. Hopefully.

"You're coming with me Friday night, right?" Julie asked.

Hannah shrugged and looked down the hall for an exit strategy. Instead she found Tim talking to a few members of the team. He looked over a boy's shoulder at her and smiled mischievously. For a moment he seemed as though he would walk over, so Hannah brought her focus back to the group of friends.

"Don't know yet. I may just stay home." _For the possible fallout_ … she thought.

"There's a party afterward. We never go to those things. I was thinking the three of us-" The clearing of Landry's throat stopped Julie. "The _four_ of us could go. Everyone will be there. Smash...Tim..."

"My two favorite people on the planet," Landry muttered.

Hannah narrowed her eyes at Julie. "We'll see."

 **~1:30 P.M.~**

Hannah placed her water bottle under the spout of the fountain. She knew it would taste like toilet water, but the vending machines had eaten all her money. She waited, tapping her foot to the end of some pop song she caught on the radio.

It was times like these that she resented the quiet, alone time. It left too much time to think. In fact, she found herself craving another fascinating lecture on Meiosis in human anatomy.

When the bottle was full, she took a sip and then refilled it to the top once more. After screwing the lid, she turned around and jumped, a squeal escaping her. The bottle dropped to the floor.

"Jesus, you scared me." Hannah put a hand on her chest and felt her heart vibrate beneath her ribcage.

Tim grinned and bent down to grab the bottle. "Sorry."

"Yeah, you look real sorry."

Tim pressed his lips together to suppress the smile. "Well, you can't blame me. It was pretty funny."

Hannah snatched the bottle from him and fought the urge to stick out her tongue. She side-stepped to get around him. But he blocked her path.

"Listen, I wanted to talk to you about next Tuesday."

"Hannah turned to look at him and raised her eyebrow. "Well, well, we haven't even had one tutoring session and you're flaking already? What a surprise." She began to walk away from him, but he grabbed her elbow.

"No, I'm not flaking. I just wanted to know if maybe we could do it today. I have a test."

"There's no test in English this week, Tim." Her stomach released a tingling sensation as she spoke his name.

"No, it's a make-up. From before you started going here."

"And you're just taking it now?" He smiled sheepishly. "Well, what's it on?"

"Uh…'bout that…"

Hannah scoffed and shook her head. "You don't even know the name of the damn book? Unbelievable."

"It's Shakespeare. The one about the king and prince." Tim ran a hand through his hair and then rested it on the back of his neck. Even he could hear how pitiful that sounded.

"That narrows it down."

"Really?"

"Yeah, to like, ten plays."

"Oh."

"Let's see, there's Richard II, Henry IV-Part One, that is-and then there's Henry IV Part Two, Henry V, Richard the-"

"All right, all right, I get it." Tim chuckled and held up his hand. "I think it was a Henry. That sounds familiar. There's a fat guy in it. I think."

"Falstaff?"

Tim stared at her blankly. "Sure?"

Hannah rolled her eyes. Why did he have to be so goddamn adorable? Why couldn't he irritate her enough to let her walk away?

"Okay, Tim. I'll help you. After school."

"You mean after practice."

She sighed. "Uh-huh."

 **~5:30 P.M.~**

 _I'm going to kill him_ , Hannah thought. _Slowly and painfully._

He was late. Practice had ended a half hour earlier, and there was still no sign of Tim. She left the library and walked out to the parking lot. As she made her way closer to the gate, she stopped in her tracks. His truck was still there.

So, she turned around and headed for the locker rooms. And there he was, talking to one of the guys, his hair wet from the shower.

"Ah, there she is. Gotta go, man." Tim shook hands with the player and then shoved them into his jean pockets before walking toward her.

"What took you so long?" he asked.

Hannah gaped at him. "What took me so long? I was waiting at the library for you. Did you forget that?"

"Nope, I just wanted you to have to walk all the way out here so you could enjoy the view."

Hannah felt her face burn.

"Of the football field, that is." His smiled turned wicked. "It's a nice field."

As they walked back toward the library he started whistling. "It's Henry IV, by the way."

"Part One or Two?"

"I…"

"Hannah smiled and shook her head. "That's okay, we'll find out soon enough."

 **~6:30 P.M.~**

"Would you stop doodling in your notebook, please."

Tim was resting his cheek on his hand, his elbow propped up on the table. He looked positively bored out of his mind. He placed a pencil between his nose and upper lip and tried to balance it.

"Are we done yet?"

"Not even close."

"But it's late and I'm hungry."

"What are you, four?"

Tim exhaled loudly-for effect-and leaned back in his chair. He put his hands behind his head, which only showed more of his biceps. The bastard.

"But we've been at it for like, three hours," he whined.

"Actually, it's been one. Well, more like forty-five minutes since you couldn't find the book in your backpack."

"One hour?" He looked legitimately surprised. "Oooohhh myyyyy goooood."

"Come on, this is like, the best history play of them all. Now stop being a baby or I won't help you anymore."

"Can't we just take a break?"

Hannah pinched the bridge of her nose. What a child. How could someone with man muscles be such a child? "We took a break when you left to get a soda. And go to the bathroom. Now focus." But he wouldn't. Instead, he just tilted his head back and covered his face with his hands.

"Tim?" she said timidly.

He had to look up at that. He peeked through his fingers and then lowered his head so it was level with hers. He raised an eyebrow.

"You do realize that I can decide your fate like that." She snapped her fingers. "I decide whether you play football, or whether you sit on the sidelines. All it takes is for me to leave, and you take this test all on your own. And since I don't give a shit about football, I really don't care if they play without you." Hannah rolled a piece of paper up into a ball and threw it at Tim's head. "So, suck it up."

Tim folded his arms over his chest, and a dark look crossed his face. He suddenly didn't look so smug. They glared at each other for a moment, before he eventually picked the book back up and flipped to the correct page with a little too much force. It ripped, causing both of them to jump slightly.

Now he was pouting, like a true four-year-old, and it took every bit of self-control not to laugh at him. It was too cute, the way his bottom lip jutted out, and his eyebrows knitted together.

"So," Hannah began, suppressing a smile and keeping her tone light, "what's the name of the 'fat guy' again?"

"Fallsworth."

She made the noise of a buzzer. "Try again."

He growled.

And so they continued, for the next sixty minutes.

 **~9:00 P.M.~**

The sound of muffled yells through bedroom walls were never fun. The sound of feet stomping and doors slamming weren't fun either. But complete silence was the worst of all.

Henry and Laurie were sleeping in separate rooms that night. Hannah had cereal for dinner while her father poured himself a glass of scotch to go with his tuna sandwich. Laurie didn't eat at all.

It almost seemed silly, fighting over three hundred dollars. Sure, it was a lot, but it wasn't A LOT. Then again, things hadn't been going smoothly before all this either. The move had really shaken things up.

There was a knock at her door. Henry opened it a sliver, just enough to give Hannah some warning.

"Hey, monkey."

Hannah didn't say anything. She only looked up and him and nodded.

"Listen, that friend of yours, the one who let you stay over-what's her name again?"

"Julie Taylor."

"Right, right. Her parents are good people?"

"Her mom is the principal and her dad is the football coach."

"Coach Taylor?" Light bulb. "Of course. Listen, you think you could stay over there Thursday night? I want to do something special for Laurie. Maybe cook her dinner, talk things out. It'll just be better if we have some alone time. Think you could work that out?"

Hannah looked at her dad sympathetically. Hey, he was trying. "I'll see what I can do, Dad."

**NOTE: Okay, so this is the end of the chapter. Might be kinda short, but it just felt like the right place to end it. Another chapter will be up soon, I promise. Some big questions are forming, a lot of will they or won't they, for multiple characters. Starting to sound like a soap opera. But, it's my soap opera. Cheesiness and all. Toodaloo! (look, the cheesiness is already wearing off on me)


	7. Chapter 7

**Note: Hi! So it seems like there are a lot of people who have not been introduced to the wonders of dry shampoo. Well, be prepared to have your life changed. Dry shampoo, my friends, can either be a spray (like hair spray) or a powder that you place on your roots. Some suggest you let it sit, others say rub it in for a bit. Then, you brush it out. Voila! Fresh, oil-free hair for those days you don't or can't wash it. Gives volume and leaves a nice smell. That was probably said in way too much detail, since this story has absolutely nothing to do with hair products. But hey, the more you know. Okay, onward to chapter seven!

Chapter 7

As it turned out, the Taylors were more than happy to have Hannah over, which might have had to do with the fact that Julie began to do her homework, set the dinner table, and even clean her room in preparation for her friend.

That night was pizza night, for Mrs. Taylor said almost begrudgingly, "I'll already be doin' too much cookin' in the morning."

Hannah shook her head. She'd never met a family so diligent in having a full breakfast together on a school day.

Around 8:30 PM the girls retreated back to Julie's room, dragging blankets and pillows behind them to make a bed on the floor. The conversation quickly turned to yesterday's tutoring session. Hannah put a hand on her forehead.

"It was honestly like pulling teeth. Twenty minutes to just say one name correctly. And don't even get me started on how long it took to explain that the Henry's were real people."

Julie laughed. "And how'd he do with the language?"

Her friend scoffed. "He reads a line and asks me what it means. So, I tell him, 'Hal's determined to change the way people see him when he takes over as king.' And he says, 'Why didn't he just say that, then?' It's poetry, it's not supposed to be straight-forward."

"You have more patience than I do. That is for sure."

"I just wish he cared enough about it as he does knocking into people."

Julie and Hannah sat quietly for a minute. It seemed like Julie wanted to talk about it in more detail, but she chose not to pry. She threw a pillow at Hannah's head and crawled up her own bed.

As they each pulled the covers over themselves, Hannah's phone buzzed beside her pillow. It was her father.

 _Dad: Thanks again for giving us some time to talk._

 _Me: It's ok. How's it going over there?_

 _Dad: Really great. I think we're getting somewhere._

 _Me: Oh good_

 _Dad: It's all gonna be ok monkey._

Hannah stared at the screen, her fingers hovering over the keyboard. Hannah typed out, _I hope so_ , but quickly erased it and put her phone under her pillow.

"Hannah, are you sleeping already?" came a whisper from the bed.

But there was no reply. Hannah didn't feel like talking, didn't feel like opening up. If she told Julie, Julie would definitely tell her parents, and probably Matt. What would they all think? As angry as Hannah was with her father, she couldn't stand the thought of others thinking bad of him. Better to keep quiet and pretend to be asleep.

 **~Friday, 6:30 AM~**

When the phone alarm went off, Hannah threw the phone across the room, where it landed with a loud thud against the closet door. The sound startled her awake more than the alarm ever could. The phone might have caused some damage. Hannah sat up straight, a little too fast, and a wave of nausea washed over her. Her head was spinning; she hadn't slept well that night, tossing and turning on the floor. It felt as though someone decided to repeatedly tap her on the head with a hammer. The pain shot down to her eyes and along her jaw.

This was going to be a wicked headache.

Hannah turned to ask Julie for an aspirin, but found that the blond was not in her bed. So, Hannah, with her eyes still partially closed and wavy hair tied in a half-bun on her head, made her way to the kitchen. She dragged her bare feet on the carpet, and gently rubbed her temples with her middle fingers.

She saw Mrs. Taylor before her friend, who was cooking away in the kitchen. It was too early for all of this.

"Hannah, honey, you all right? You feelin' sick?" Mrs. Taylor walked toward her and put a hand to her forehead.

"No, I just have a headache. Do you think I could have some aspirin or ibuprofen for-"

But Hannah didn't get a chance to finish her sentence. Something caught her attention out of the corner of her eye. She rotated her entire body toward the dining room table. And there, using up every chair in the house, was Coach Taylor, Julie, and the entire Panther football team.

Instinctively, Hannah crossed her arms over her chest as it dawned on her that she was bare-faced, bra-less, and speckled in blemishes. Her expression one of horror, she looked at the sea of faces until her eyes rested on the long-haired boy at the head of the table. One corner of his mouth lifted in amusement. Without breaking eye contact, Hannah backed out of the kitchen, down the hall, until she was concealed. And then, she ran to the bathroom and shut the door.

She braced herself on the counter and turned on the faucet. As she looked into the mirror, she caught a glimpse of the blemish forming on her chin. She groaned and put her hands on her face.

A knock at the door startled her. "Hannah?" It was Julie.

And it was at that moment that Hannah saw red. She grasped the handle tightly and open the door just enough to poke her head out.

"What the shit, Julie?" she said in a harsh whisper.

Julie gave a quiet laugh, and stopped immediately upon seeing her friend's face. She bit at a hangnail on her thumb. "Yeah, I guess I sort of forgot to tell you about the team breakfast."

"Sort of? There is a group of boys in your kitchen and I just...I'm wearing a tank top, Julie!"

"Sorry." She looked down at her feet, like a wounded animal. "What were you asking Mom for?"

"Motrin, Tylenol. Just something. My head's going to explode."

Julie nodded and walked away. Once the door was closed and locked, Hannah reached for her toothbrush and scrubbed away any trace of morning breath. She unzipped her makeup bag and retrieved a bottle and brush.

Another knock at the door.

As Hannah opened it, she said, "You also could have warned me that…." It wasn't Julie. Hannah quickly closed the door and leaned against it, eyes wide.

Another knock.

"I've got the drugs," Tim said.

"You can just leave them by the door, thank you."

Silence followed. After waiting a moment, Hannah slowly opened the door. He was still standing there, holding out the little white pills. When she attempted to close the door again, he stuck his foot in the way.

"Why aren't you out there havin' breakfast?" he asked, as she took the medicine from him.

"I'm getting ready first. I'll be out there in a little while." She turned back to the counter and unscrewed the lid of the bottle. Creamy brown liquid dribbled on her arm. "Great," she muttered.

"What's that?" Tim asked.

"Foundation." Then she looked back at him. "Why are you still here?"

"I don't know. Curious, I guess. What's it for?"

She sighed, dabbing a teeny bit of the liquid on her hand, and then taking the brush to it. She began at the chin, swiping this way and that as the makeup blended into her skin. "It hides…" She pressed her lips together and swiped it under her nose. "...problems."

"You paint your face?"

"It's just easier to do it this way. Less messy."

He didn't leave. Instead, he watched her paint the rest of it on. She screwed the cap back on and retrieved a tube of mascara, an eyeliner pencil, and blush.

"You put all of that on? What's that one for?"

"This gives you bigger eyes, this lengthens eyelashes, this makes sure I don't look like a ghost." Now he looked horrified. She smiled. "We don't all look like Lyla when we wake up."

Tim didn't like that. His expression turned sour and he snatched the makeup off the counter.

"Hey!"

"You don't need all of this. You're fine just like that. So come on out and get some breakfast." He started to walk away, but she pulled at his shirt.

"Give it back. It's not funny."

"Nope."

"Tim, I am so not in the mood for this right now. Just give me my stuff."

He smiled and shook his head, his hair flopping about.

"Come on. I need it, god damn it." Hannah whined. "Please."

Her voice took on a pleading tone, and her eyes began to look panicked and...What did he see...There was something else. They were starting to look glossy.

"Alright." Tim guided her back to the bathroom and squeezed inside with her, shutting the door behind them. He leaned against the back of the door and crossed his arms. They looked at each other. "What's up with you?"

Hannah put a hand on her hip. "Uh, nothing much, Tim. What's up with you?"

"No, I mean what's wrong."

"Nothing is wrong. I'm fine. I just want my stuff."

He closed his eyes and exhaled loudly. "No, somethin' is botherin' you. I can tell."

Hannah looked to the tile on the floor and bit down hard on the inside of her cheek. "I'm fine," she said without making eye contact.

"Well, let's see." He began to drum on the door with his thumbs. "You're not at home again. You wanted to work even later than we did yesterday. Somethin' at home, maybe?"

 _Aren't you observant_ , she thought. "No." But it didn't sound very convincing.

"You know, if there is somethin' goin' on, you could come to the game tonight, hang out, get some space."

 _The game_. That was where the trouble all started.

She scoffed. "I don't want to go to a stupid football game, okay? I hate it. I'm not gonna waste my Friday night there. So, just drop it."

He looked hurt, but he still didn't leave. And then that familiar feeling of guilt welled up in her chest.

"Sorry," she said quietly. "I shouldn't have said that. Things are just...complicated right now."

Tim ran his fingers through his hair and crossed his ankles. "The Taylors know about it?"

"No, and I'd like to keep it that way."

"Fair enough. Well, come have some breakfast."

"Just give me that bag first, and I will."

The mischievous smile returned to his face as he looked down at the little bag. "I'll tell ya what. Come to the game tonight and you get this back."

"Fine," she answered a little too quickly. She held out her hand. "Give it here."

Tim laughed. "You think I'm that stupid? No, you'll get your bag back. _After_ the game tonight."

"Are you insane? I'm not going out like this."

"Then you're not gettin' it back." As she reached out for it, he held it above her head. It was no use, he was too tall, even when she hopped. She started to threaten him, and he put it between his jeans and underwear. The belt held it safely against him. "Go ahead, then. Get it."

She was taken aback at first, but she soon composed herself and held her up high. "You don't think I will?"

Her timid fingers reached out toward his waist, and she ignored his laughter as he backed against the sink. She was almost there, but he grabbed her wrists. They looked at each other. He wasn't smiling anymore.

Hannah's breathing hitched as she stared at his lips. They were parted slightly. He seemed to be breathing a little heavier as well. But she couldn't move, no matter how hard she tried. Her stomach tightened. He still didn't let go of her wrists.

And then, before she could do anything, he lowered his head just enough to let his lips brush against hers. He kissed the corner of her mouth. She stood there, frozen, as he opened the bathroom door and backed out.

"I'll be keeping this until tonight."

But Hannah hadn't registered what he'd said. She was in a daze. When she was finally able to catch her breath, she stepped out into the hall. "Tim."

He looked at her and waited. She looked anywhere but at him. "Can I at least get the eyebrow pencil...Mine never grew back right after I plucked too much...Just so I can even them out." _So smooth_.

Tim pursed his lips. "Sure," he said, and unzipped the bag for her. He tossed her the brown pencil and walked back toward the kitchen. "And by the way, don't even think about stoppin' at a store before school. That's against the rules."

 _That's what you think_ , she thought. He'd put the idea right in her head. It was his fault, really. Now to determine which drugstore brands worked best. She had to look put-together. _Especially after what just happened in there..._

"Hey, Matt," she heard him call. "You can go ahead and take Julie to school. I got Hannah covered."

 _Well, shit._


	8. Chapter 8

****Note: Hello there! I'm sorry I've been MIA for so long. I started a new job and it's been taking up a lot of time. Since it seems like there are still a few people interested in this story (including me), I'm going to continue this. Things are getting a little complicated for Hannah after that last chapter. So, if you like, stay tuned to find out how she handles everything. And if she ever gets her makeup back...dun dun DUN. Alright, that's enough. Enjoy this next chapter.

Chapter 8

 **~Friday 8:00 AM~**

"You're a real piece of work."

"Sure am," Tim said.

They were sitting in his truck on their way to school. Hannah had stuffed both of their backpacks in the middle seat so she was as far away from him as possible. Her irritation with his latest stunt-making her go bare-faced-and everything that happened earlier, when he…

It was too much for her tired mind to handle. The headache had yet to subside, and the pain felt like a hammer knocking on her temples. Thump. Thump. Thump. For a moment, she thought she could physically hear it before she realized it was just the sound of the truck's tires flying over the uneven pavement.

"Slow it down, would ya?" Hannah said, her arms tightly folded across her chest. "It's not a race."

"Don't like a little off-road?" She could sense him looking at her, probably with one of those goofy smiles that made his eyes squint so much she questioned his ability to see the road. But she would not look at him.

When she didn't answer for some time, Tim rested his arm on top of her backpack, and began playing with one of the zippers. He tried to play it with the beat of the song on the radio, but it was dreadfully off-key.

"Ready for the game tonight?" he asked.

"Ready to get my stuff back," she snapped back.

"All in good time." He suddenly turned off the radio and rolled down his window. The wind had picked up, and as the car sped down the road, his messy hair fluttered in front of his eyes. But he didn't seem to care. "I don't know why you're gettin' so freaked out anyway. Not like you look bad, or somethin'."

Hannah sighed, but chose not to respond. She knew he was trying to ease the tension, but with everything happening with the game in just a few hours, it was better to not say anything she might regret.

"In fact," Tim began, "some people might even find that sorta thing...attractive."

But she wouldn't budge. What was she supposed to say to that? _Did he mean him?_ she thought. What if he didn't? What if he meant in general? Better to save herself from embarrassment.

"I always found it was better anyway, not having to worry about gettin' that stuff all over my clothes or face or…" He made a clicking sound with his tongue.

That did it. Hannah cracked a smile and gave an dramatic eyeroll in his direction. He smiled in return, this time showing his teeth. The dimples in his cheeks became more pronounced.

"Such as perve," she muttered. But when he looked at her again, he saw the amusement in her eyes.

"The biggest," he answered.

And for a short time, the worries slipped away, and she was able to enjoy the lightheartedness. Even without all the angsty moments they sometimes shared, something as simple as silly back-and-forth was enough to make her feel better. But that quickly faded as the thoughts began to creep back into her mind, how everything would change if the Panthers lost that night. What would be waiting for her at home?

The corners of her mouth fell into a frown, and she looked back out the window. Before Tim had a chance to say anything about the sudden change in atmosphere, they were at a stop sign in the school parking lot, and Hannah jumped out of the car.

"Gotta get to class early-see ya," she said, grabbing her bag.

"Alright, then," he said, his reply cut off from the sound of his truck door slamming shut.

 **~11:00 A.M.~**

Hannah didn't make it to English that day. Over the course of the morning, the pain in her head had become so unbearable it made her physically sick. She sat in the bathroom stall for the last twenty minutes of her history class, back pressed against the door. It wasn't long before the teacher, Mrs. Solano, went to check on her, and saw the girl sitting on the tile. She soon determined that Hannah really was sick, and was not just attempting to skip a pop quiz.

She'd been in the nurse's office since.

As she lay on the tiny, pleather couch curled up in the tightest ball she could form, she felt a gentle pressure on her shoulder.

"Hannah, sweetie?" It was a calm voice with a familiar southern twang.

Hannah turned over and peered up at Mrs. Taylor. She attempted to sit up, but was told not to move.

"What's goin' on? Are you feelin' sick?"

Hannah turned over on her side and shook her head. "It's nothing, Mrs. Taylor. I just needed to lie down for a while. Then I'll be back to class."

Mrs. Taylor, however, was not convinced. "Maybe you should go home. I'm sure we could call someone to come get you. I could get Matt to drive you back before lunch-"

"-No!" Hannah sat up a little too quickly, and watched the world spin around her. "I mean, that's okay. I'll be fine. I don't need to go home."

"Honey, I don't think it's a good idea for you to…" but she when she saw the look on Hannah's face, a combination of fear and desperation, Mrs. Taylor dropped it. "Well, you take it easy today, okay? You let me know if I need to have someone take you home."

"Will do, Mrs. Taylor."

 **~12:30 PM~**

"Did you see Erica painting her face earlier?"

"I think you should paint your face, Julie."

"I think everyone should paint their entire bodies blue and gold. That'd look so badass if the entire side of the field was just a sea of blue and gold."

"Landry, how would you even know if their bodies were covered in paint? It's not like they're gonna walk around naked."

Matt, Julie, and Landry had spent the first half of lunch debating the most creative ways to show team spirit. Matt suggested the crowd do a choreographed dance, with Julie as their guide. Julie was just about to discuss her idea before Landry jumped in.

"Maybe everyone should be naked. I mean, it's our natural state, right? We're all born naked. It's the one thing that brings us all together, everyone in the world. So let's use nudity to bring everyone together tonight."

Hannah was sitting the chair against the wall so that she had a full view of the cafeteria. She had been biting her nails, and had chomped it down to the point of blood. She felt naked and judged without all the additions to her eyes, cheeks, and lips. She'd managed to find lip balm in her locker, but it hadn't made much of an improvement. This did not gone unnoticed by the three at the table. Julie commented how fresh Hannah looked, despite feeling like crap on the inside. She elbowed Matt, and he agreed with a nod of his head.

Everywhere she turned, there was blue and gold. It was inescapable. She glanced at her phone every few minutes, though she wasn't sure what she was hoping to see.

"Hannah, full nudity-yes or no."

Unfortunately for Landry, a quiet hum had fallen over the students so that his question seemed to reach people across the room. It reached the ears of Smash, Lyla, and Tim, despite their being seated at different tables.

Hannah widened her eyes and raised her eyebrows at Landry in an effort to shut him up. But he didn't.

"Come on, you already said your face was naked. Why not keep the trend goin'?"

"Landry, shut up," Matt said.

"What? I think it's a fair and decent argument. Julie, tell him."

But Julie was focusing on Hannah, who was staring off in another direction. Her face gave her away, and Julie followed her friend's gaze until her eyes rested on the source. Tim.

Suddenly, Hannah scooted her chair back against the wall and left the table. She was almost at the exit before one of the rally girls cornered her.

"Want to sign up for the raffle at the game? Winner gets a free Panthers shirt and tickets to the playoffs!"

Hannah glared at the girl and pushed away her clip board, which had been shoved into her face.

"Who said you were going to make it to the playoffs?" Hannah left before the girl could respond.

She picked up speed as she passed the lockers, and just as she was rounding the corner, she felt her phone buzz in her pocket. Retrieving it, she glanced down at the message on the tiny lit screen.

 _Think you could save me a seat close to the coach tonight?_

It was her father. Hannah felt the knots forming in her stomach. But before she could put her phone away, another message came in.

 _This will be good for us Hannah. Promise_

She groaned and crammed the phone back in her pocket. It was bad enough to see spirit wear left and right, to hear the chanting and whistling. But if these messages kept coming in, who knows what she'd do.

 **~7:00 PM Game Night~**

Too many eyes, Hannah thought. Too many eyes to witness everything fall apart. Their shame would be visible for all to see, and then they'd have to squeeze by rows and rows of disappointed fans just to leave the stadium and take their shame with them.

This night would determine the fates of several people in Dillon, Texas. And for the first time, Hannah realized that it was more than just a silly football game. It meant everything. Its outcome would decide what she'd come home to that night and every night after.

The color guard was currently on the field doing their routine, and the cheerleaders were up next. The team had yet to come out of the locker room. Hannah watched as they tossed and spun the blue and yellow flags in the air while the band played a rendition of their school song.

Julie had compromised with Landry and painted her cheeks, in addition to smearing blue lipstick on her lips. She and Hannah were the only two sitting down in the bleachers. Everyone else stood and cheered on the performance below. The girls were wedged between Mrs. Taylor and Hannah's father, who had decided to show up even though Hannah "forgot" to text him back. It was a somber bubble between the two of them, though Julie was still not quite sure why that was.

"You know, Matt said there's going to be a party at Smash's tonight. Maybe we should go. Get out of the house for a bit?"

Hannah shrugged. "How can he plan a party when he doesn't even know if they'll win?"

"I don't think there's a doubt in his mind about that," Julie chuckled. "But, either way, it's still happening. And if they do lose," she suddenly lowered her voice so the surrounding fans wouldn't hear the blasphemy. "It'll be a party to cheer everyone up."

"I guess."

"So you'll come with us?"

Hannah sighed and leaned over so that her elbows rested on her knees. "Let me think about it."

Julie didn't have a chance to respond as the sound of the brass and drums increased in volume and speed. The crowd began to go crazy, waving foam fingers, tiny Panther flags, and "I love you" posters all along the stands.

Hannah looked ahead onto the field at the huge blue banner. Matt and Smash were the first to tear through it, the others trailing behind. Number 33 was one of the last to trot out, and he looked up at the stands at the adoring fans. He seemed to be searching for something, but was quickly brought back into focus as Coach Taylor screamed for them to gather. It was time to plan their attack.

"This is it," Hannah's father said. He rocked slightly back and forth in his seat, tapping the palms of his hands on his thighs.

Hannah felt sick.

Hannah was feeling more stress about this football game than she ever thought possible. A few times she even found herself yelling with the crowd any time one of the players made a mistake, or if the referee made a bad call. The whole process was utterly exhausting. They were trailing behind by fourteen points, which was already unbelievable to the viewers in the stands. This was supposed to be a piece of cake, an easy victory. But it was turning out to be more challenging than anyone imagined.

Half-time gave everyone a chance to talk amongst themselves and devise their own plans of how the team could win, the different plays Coach Taylor might try, which players needed to take the bench.

Hannah watched Tim remove his helmet and reveal soaking wet hair. He looked how she felt. They were both seemingly ready to check out. He was huffing and puffing, pouring water on himself, using two towels at a time to wipe his face and neck. Hannah wondered if he too was suspecting a loss. She could never tell with him once he was in a game. He was very good at keeping his emotions hidden, particularly when that damn helmet blocked his face.

The team had just returned from the locker rooms, once again pumped up from another inspiring speech from their coach. Tim was talking to Smash, their hands waving around furiously to keep up with their conversations. They were strategizing, no doubt. Smash soon clapped Tim on the back and jogged out onto the field. But Tim stayed behind for a moment and looked out into the crowd again. He was searching again.

Until it became obvious what he was looking for, or rather, who he was looking for.

He saw brown-haired girl wedged uncomfortably between two people, her legs crossed at the ankles. Her face was a mask of worry. But it had never been more exposed, more open and sweet. She was…. _somethin' else_ , he thought.

"Alright, let's go, let's go," Coach Taylor screamed. "Bring it home."

For the remainder of the game, the crowd witnessed the Panthers' fullback get pummeled over and over again, his helmet ramming into another. More than once he ended up on the ground, consuming a mouth full of astroturf. He'd pound the ground with his fists and bounce back up. Hannah could tell that after each blow to his body, his fury grew. She was sure that if his helmet was off, she'd see him gnash his teeth.

At one point, it seemed as though a fight would break out between the players; Tim had been elbowed in the side, and quickly turned on the player, shoving him hard on the chest. When Matt realized that his friend might do something that could cause them to throw the game, he yelled out to Coach Taylor and darted towards Tim.

Tim was in a fighting stance and gripped the other player's jersey. Eventually the whole team was on the field, and then the other team and their coach. Even a boy on crutches limped over to the mass forming in the center. Coach Taylor managed to squeeze in between everyone and grabbed the side of Tim's helmet, dragging him out of the scene. The referee began to bicker with them, and eventually it was decided that Tim would sit out for the remainder of the game. Some of the fans booed loudly in the stands, and Tim tossed his helmet to the side.

Before he could take a seat on the bench, the player who had started the quarrel shouted a string of profanities Tim's way. Something eventually stuck, and his back was once again to the crowd as he began to make his way to the center. His hands were balled into fists.

" _Tim!_ " Hannah realized she had stood up in the bleachers and shouted. Out loud.

It wasn't that she'd said it particularly loud, it was the tone. She choked on the name as it escaped her, and it was coated thick with desperation. It rang clear enough to reach the field.

Number 33 stopped dead in his tracks and turned around. Even through his sweat-soaked hair, he could see her standing there. She looked terrified. Why? For him? Was she scared for him? He could easily take this twerp, there was no doubt in his mind.

But the way she was looking at him...If he did this, what would she think of him? He might have already thrown the game with that earlier stunt. _Damn it,_ he thought, _why do I always let them get to me?_

So, he walked back to the bench, and watched from the sidelines as his team hesitantly went back to their positions, and Coach Taylor was once again observing from the side, his clipboard held tightly against his chest.

The game went on, but Smash continued to keep the crowd riled up-and his antics-as he danced and hollered chants back at them. And it had to be done, they needed the crowd's support if they were going to pull this off without their fullback.

With two minutes left in the game, the Panthers were nearly spent, and a few bent over to catch their breath. They'd managed to catch up, trailing behind by two points at 26-28. All they needed was to carry through one more play, and they'd be off to the playoffs. With this in mind, the people in the stands came to life once more, growing louder and louder with anticipation.

Hannah's father was clapping his hands together and hollering at the team below. They were going to pull this off, Hannah began to think. They could actually do it. And maybe it wouldn't be so bad if Laurie saw that they'd won some money. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad. Maybe…

They were back in formation, and Coach Taylor was screaming "Come on, come on," at them again, his clipboard tucked under his arm so he could clap his hands.

"Come on," Hannah echoed quietly. _Please._

And then it began, and the clock ticked away the seconds. It was all happening so fast that she couldn't keep track of the ball. Somehow it managed to make its way back to their quarterback, and Matt was searching desperately down the field for someone to catch the ball. But no one was there. In a split-second decision, he sprinted forward, dodging the heavy bodies as they threw themselves in his path.

Julie was screaming his name, cupping her hands over her mouth, and Mrs. Taylor cheered him on. Tim stood up and flailed his arms for Matt to keep going, keep pushing, keep dodging. The cheerleaders began jumping and squealing as Matt zig-zagged down the field. At one point, a player fell in front of him, but he managed to hop over the mass. He stumbled briefly, but quickly regained his balance. It was obvious that he was pushing himself as hard as he physically could.

"Go, Matt, keep going!" Hannah yelled. She fought the urge to cover her eyes. There was too much pressure in this moment. Her heart was pounding in her chest as she saw her father smile out of the corner of her eye.

He was getting downright giddy, saying "I told you, honey. I told you it would work out. Look at the boy run!"

Matt was pumping his legs as he sailed across the turf. He was so close to the end zone. Hannah glanced at the game clock-ten seconds. Nine, eight, seven...the crowd started counting down as he pumped his legs.

The screams were unintelligible when mashed together, but one thing was clear in everyone's mind: they were going to the playoffs.

Two of the players on the other team began gaining on Matt, his tired legs aching to have a rest. He was losing his momentum, but he only needed to last another four seconds or so.

"Go, go!" Julie shrieked.

Hannah bit hard on the inside of her cheek and drew blood. But the pain didn't even register. This was it.

He was so close, just reaching the fifteen yard line. The touchdown was in sight. As the two players dove for him, he launched himself onto the end zone. And just as soon as he hit the ground, the two players piled on top of him.

For a moment, a silence fell over the crowd as Matt remained buried under them. No one could see the ball. The referee jogged over, the whistle held between his lips. He gestured for the boys to move off of Matt so they could all see the placement of the ball. The boys scrambled off of him, and the referee bent down by Matt's face. Matt turned on his side to reveal the ball under his stomach.

Hannah stretched herself out as far as she could, desperate to catch a glimpse. Her heart was caught in her throat, and blood rushed to her head. The pounding began once more in her temples. She could feel the sweat forming on the back of her neck.

"Call it," her father whispered. "Call it already."

The referee stood up and faced the crowd. They waited on the edge of their seat, ready for him to raise his arms and confirm the touchdown.

But he didn't.

He crossed his arms and moved them outwards, the signal for no points. And at that moment, Matt stood up and revealed a ball beside the line. Except it had never made it to the other side. He hadn't made it.

The Panthers had lost.


	9. Chapter 9

**Note: Hello, sorry I haven't posted in some time. I was dealing with a breakup and I couldn't find it in myself to write about anything with romance. But it's all good now, and I am ready to write this story again! Hope you guys are still interested, because I don't like to leave stories unfinished. This may seem like a shorter chapter, but I promise you that Tim will return in the next one. I'm getting back in the groove, so it shouldn't be too long before Chapter 10 is posted. Keep in mind, there's no fluffiness in this one. The tone is quite heavy. But things will get even crazier in the next chapter.

Chapter 9

 **~9:05 PM~**

A silence still lingered over the crowd in the stands five minutes after the referee made the call. They remained immobile as they all stood in the bleachers looking onto the field, down at the players, then up at the scoreboard. Everyone was in shock.

"But…" Henry uttered. It was the only sound in the stands, and caused Hannah to startle.

She wasn't looking at the scoreboard anymore. She'd realized that it wasn't some horrible mistake or a cruel joke. The team had lost. And there was nothing she could do about it.

Before she had time to say anything to her father, he was already making his way down the stairs. She watched him as he took two steps at a time, shoulders hunched over. He was in a hurry. No doubt to speak with his wife about tonight's events. _Was she listening to the radio?_ Hannah thought. Or, maybe she was still sitting at home praying things had worked out.

Various fans began to take their leave, filing out of the sections in a much more organized manner than usual. No one had it in them to run down to the field, scream and throw their arms up in the air for high-fives. There was no reason to tonight.

Eventually, Hannah's section started shuffling between the bleachers, the thumping of their heavy feet filling the previous silence. They kept their heads down until they exited the field. Hannah followed Julie to the back entrance of the locker rooms where she prepared her pep talk for a very unhappy Matt.

Only a few players lingered around the double doors. Matt was one of them; he patted the shoulder of a freshman that hadn't even made it onto the field that night. He looked up towards Julie and excused himself. Moments later she had her arms wrapped around him and whispered something in his ear. Matt smiled in appreciation, but it didn't touch his eyes. He was disappointed, and it seemed as though he blamed himself for the loss.

"At least the party is still happening. I think everyone could use a pick-me-up. Right, Hannah?"

Hannah looked at Julie incredulously. "The party is still happening?"

"Well, yeah. Maybe not as a victory party, but something. Are you kidding me? They look for any excuse to drink."

"I'd say I could use one right about now." Matt smiled sheepishly and rubbed the back of his neck, embarrassed he'd made the comment. He knew Julie wasn't the biggest fan of drinking, and he wasn't earning any brownie points right now.

Lucky for him, all Julie did was roll her eyes, followed by a pleading look to her friend.

"Honestly guys, I think I should probably just go home," Hannah said. "There's a lot to deal with there. Sorry."

Julie and Matt lingered, hoping that Hannah might explain the situation in greater detail, but she was already heading towards the parking lot.

What they didn't know was that it was taking every fiber of her being to drag her feet across the lot. It wasn't long before Julie and Matt caught up with her; at the speed she was going, they'd make it to the party before Hannah even reached the car. With Julie catching a ride with Matt, it seemed like Hannah's only option was to follow. She didn't want to share a car with them. Not when she was like this. She wasn't in the mood for company, and she feared she might appear distant and rude.

But Hannah should have known better than to judge her friends so quickly. They understood her silence, and knew she was reluctant to face whatever family problems awaited her. They kept the radio on low, rolled the windows down, and kept to themselves. Hannah was relieved.

And when they pulled into her driveway, Julie offered one last time. "There's still time to come with us, you know. It's Friday night. We should hang out."

"I think I'd be a bit of a buzzkill, don't you think?" Hannah gave the two a half-hearted smiled and climbed out of the car.

She could see from the driveway that the lights weren't on near the front door. It was pitch-black.

"Are you sure someone's home?" Julie asked.

"Doesn't matter. I've got a key." Hannah jingled the keys in her hand and walked up the path to the door. When she noticed that Matt's car remained on the driveway, no doubt waiting to make sure she made it inside, Hannah waved them off.

And then she opened the door.

Hannah had to use her phone's flashlight to make her way through the entryway without tripping over any misplaced shoes or bags. It seemed like no one was home. But how could that be? She'd watched her father leave. And Laurie had planned on avoiding the game altogether.

"I'm back," she called. But there was no answer. "Dad? Laurie?"

Hannah tossed her backpack to the side and slid her hands on the wall until she reached a light switch.

"She left," said a voice from some dark corner of the house.

"Jesus," Hannah whispered, clutching her chest. "Where are you?"

Henry emerged from the top of the stairs into the light. He looked gaunt, and his clothes and hair were disheveled. Only one side of his shirt was tucked into his pants, and his tie lay undone around his neck. He would not look Hannah in the eyes.

"She left," he said again.

It took Hannah a moment to find her voice. "What?" she finally managed to say. "Well, where did she go?"

Her father finally turned his gaze toward her. His bottom lip quivered slightly. "Hannah."

That was all he said. And truthfully, he didn't need to say anymore. She understood. This was the ending Hannah had dreaded, and had somewhat expected. But she'd held on to hope that maybe it would be okay, that maybe there was still something here that was worth staying for-that somehow she would make up for her father's faults. But Laurie was gone.

"I don't understand why they always leave." Henry's voice cracked at the end, and he sat on one of the stairs, putting his head in his hands.

Unable to think of anything to say, Hannah simply slumped her body against the wall. It was a fair question in a way. Why couldn't anyone ever stay? Even her own mother couldn't seem to find a good enough reason to stick it out. Hannah had always hoped that she would be that reason. But she wasn't. That much was clear to her now.

"I never mean to cause problems, you know? I only ever try to make things better for us. To give us more. But no one ever appreciates that. No one thinks about the fact that I still try. They always focus on the outcome-not the road it took to get there."

Hannah looked up at her father. "What do you mean they?"

"What?" Henry said, grabbing ahold of the railing. He leaned his head against his arm and closed his eyes.

"You said they don't focus on the road to get there. Who is they?"

"You know, Laurie...your mother...women. They're never happy."

"Sorry, but I'm just not understanding something here. Laurie's upset because you bet money we don't have. What does Mom have to do with this?"

Henry didn't answer. He simply sighed and shook his head.

"Dad." It was like someone had turned a switch in Hannah's brain. Pieces of the puzzle that had never quite fit anywhere in the picture were finally coming together. Pieces that she'd held onto, hoping that someday she would finally understand why she'd been left behind.

"Dad," she said again, only louder this time. "Have you done this before?"

Nothing.

" _Answer me!_ " she screamed. That familiar burning sensation began to build in her throat, the muscles tightening as she attempted to hold back tears.

"It's not that simple, Hannah. You wouldn't understand."

"Like hell I wouldn't understand. You tell me right now, Dad. Tell me what you did." She was crying now, there was no point in holding anything back.

"I tried to build a life for all of us. Do you know how difficult it is to start a family working twenty hours a week at a tire store? It's nearly impossible. And student loans on top of it." He shook his head again. "It's impossible, Hannah. I don't know what we were thinking."

"What are you even saying? You didn't go to college."

Henry turned to face his daughter, the light from the hallway only lighting up half of his face. "Your mother, Hannah. Your mother's loans."

"What did you do, Dad?" Hannah whispered, although she wasn't entirely sure she wanted to know.

"The race tracks were only fifteen minutes from the apartment. And they were always open until ten. I got off work at six."

 _Race tracks?_ Hannah said to herself. She didn't dare interject. Not when he was finally telling the whole story.

"Your grandmother was an interesting woman," he said, shaking his head. "Refused to pay for your mom to go to school, but spent God only knows on that ridiculous tennis bracelet as a graduation gift. Made no sense. We were buried and all she thought to do was make Cherie look pretty on her way down to rock bottom.

"So, I took the initiative. That bracelet was always sitting on the dresser, doing nothing but collecting dust. I took it to the pawn shop and got a really good deal. And then I went to the track. I made $200 that night. Doesn't sound like a lot, but when you have a kitchen full of tuna cans and frozen orange juice, you feel like you've hit the jackpot. In my mind, that wasn't gambling money, that was money to buy formula and diapers, and whatever else you needed. So I went back the next night. Didn't end up spending that $200 on diapers, mind you, because I figured I could double that the next night. And you know what? I did."

Did this mean they had some secret piggy bank stashed away somewhere? A foreign bank account? _Where were those always from? Switzerland_ , Hannah thought.

"Eventually I got it up to $2,400, Hannah. Twenty. Four. _Hundred_. Do you know how much that was to people like us?" It was here that Henry finally paused so that he could gauge his daughter's reaction to everything he's just said. But Hannah just stared at him with two wide, brown eyes. Her expression was unreadable.

"I'll admit there were times when I'd go to the track instead of work. That was difficult to keep from Cherie sometimes. I figured why tell her then? I'd do it when I had all this cash to show for it, and there wouldn't be an argument, not even a question to my methods. And it wasn't a bad thing, you know. I was making more money betting on horses than I ever did at that ridiculous minimum-wage job-if you can even call mopping the floor at a tire store a real job.

"Then, one night-I think it was a Tuesday. Must've have been, because your mom always watched _The X-Files_ those weeknights. You remember that show? Anyway, that's not important. So, one Tuesday I leave work early and head to the tracks. And some guy tells me that this week it's double or nothing, and starting bets are more than I have. I need five grand to be a part of this. I think some fancy horse was brought in from upstate Connecticut. Purebred, sleek black coat, and one hell of a temper. But he was all business on the tracks. Clearly, he was worth the five thousand. So, I left and stopped at the bank, and then I...I…"

Hannah finally found her voice, if only a soft whisper. "You what, Dad?"

"I took out what little we had saved. I brought the five thousand to them-cash only. That was their policy to make sure you didn't stiff them. I watched in awe as that horse took off like lightning. I was going to make ten grand that night, and then I was going to go home and tell your mother, and the three of us were going to drop everything and go on vacation somewhere warm with palm trees and drinks by the pool. But then the jockey lost control of him. To this day I still don't know what set him off. All I know is, one minute he's in first place, and the next I see the jockey flying through the air and landing head-first. And I lost. I lost it all. And that night I had to go home and tell your mother what had happened. That she couldn't use the money to make payments toward her loan. That was the last day I saw her."

The hot, angry tears were falling fast from Hannah's eyes now. She felt the heat rise from her feet, up her shoulders, her neck, and burst out of her ears. She was stunned. But not enough to stay silent. Not now.

"It's your fault she left?"

"Now I wouldn't say that, Hannah. Your mother had a lot of issues."

"You gambled away all of our money! You gambled away your savings...you...you gambled away money for your child! How could you do that to us?" She could no longer keep her composure. She was screaming now, her hands were balled into tight fists. She could feel her fingernails dig into her palms.

"I know I made a mistake, Hannah, but this wasn't entirely on me. I promise you that," Henry shouted back.

"Really? Then whose fault was it, huh? I don't recall anyone else fucking up in that story."

"You watch your mouth. It's not as simple as that. You couldn't even begin to understand."

"You told me she left us. You made it seem like it was all on her, on her selfishness. But it was you all along. You pushed her away. You made her leave!"

"Is that what you think? Look around, Hannah. She didn't just leave me. And I'm pretty sure a bet on a bad horse wasn't the cause for that."

Hannah caught her breath and backed away against the wall. "What are you saying?"

" I told you this story so you could understand what Laurie did. You forget that despite my mistake, I'm the one who's raised you. Not her. I took action to try to help us. _She_ didn't want any of this, Hannah. She didn't want you. You were a burden for her, and that's all."

That one stung. There was nothing left to say-he'd said it all. A burden. That's all she was. And Laurie was feeling the same now.

Hannah stood up straight and walked toward her shoes by the front door. She began untying them and slipping them on as fast as she could.

"What are you doing?" Henry asked?

Hannah didn't answer. Once she'd managed to put her shoes on through blurry, tear-stricken eyes, she grabbed her keys off the table and reached for the door.

"Where do you think you're going? Hey, I'm talking to you. Hannah!"

She didn't turn around. She just grabbed ahold of the handle, turned it, and said, "go fuck yourself." Her words were like daggers, piercing through him. She had turned cold and emotionless. And then, just like that, she was out the door.


End file.
